


We Are In Blood, You And I

by IPutTheSassInAssassin



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: AC: Forsaken spoilers, AC: Rogue spoilers, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Incest, M/M, Masturbation, Parent-Child Relationship, Parent/Child Incest, assassins creed 3 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-02-16 22:23:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 54,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2286591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IPutTheSassInAssassin/pseuds/IPutTheSassInAssassin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the hunt for Ben Church, Haytham was presented with countless opportunities to kill the Templars' greatest threat, Connor. So why hadn't he? His mistake would be his ruin, and he once again finds himself with no other choice but to ally with the Assassin, this time against those he once called brothers, including the now tyrannical Charles Lee. </p><p>Eventual HaythCon</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *contains AC3, Forsaken and Rogue spoilers* This takes place right after the "Broken Trust" mission of Sequence 10 (approximately 2-3 weeks afterward)
> 
> *Major divergences from Forsaken's canon, as I had not read Forsaken when I began this*

**July 1778**

 

Despite his best efforts to avoid the subject of Ziio altogether, Haytham's thoughts often drifted back to her. Whenever he happened upon a native during his travels, or catch a couple taking to the shadows to indulge their amorous desires, he couldn't help but remember _her_ , the feel of her hair between his fingers, the way she smelled. Many a night and countless hours of which there was little else to distract him, Haytham would allow himself to wonder how different his life might've played out had he and Ziio actually stayed together.

Their time together had been cut painstakingly short, and yet, their relationship had changed the course of fate, perhaps even all of history. It was then when he, the Templar Grand-Master, had sowed the seed of the very Assassin now destroying his order. Not that he regretted having been with Ziio, heavens _no_! She'd been the only person he'd ever loved and he'd do _anything_ to relive those stolen weeks...

Maybe if they'd stayed together, his son wouldn't currently be picking off his comrades one by one. Maybe, just maybe, they could've been a family... but now?

He should’ve killed Connor back at the church. What a decidedly perfect opportunity! Luck had presented many chances even after that, especially on the Aquila. Yet he failed to take advantage of any of them because s _omething_ was getting in his way. He was far too proud to admit that ‘ _something_ ’ was nothing more than sentiment. In vain he fought to convince himself it was plain curiosity about his only offspring, even voicing as much whenever asked, but he couldn’t help that little part inside that felt attached to his last remaining connection to Ziio.

Connor had failed to make another appearance after their little spat with Washington two weeks prior. Upon looking back, Haytham supposed he could understand the boy’s anger. He’d hoped that by exposing Washington for his actions, particularly his orders to burn the natives’ villages, would make Connor more sympathetic to Haytham’s words. Yet in that, he exposed himself and ended up only thickening the barrier between him and his son.

It was just as well. Connor was an Assassin; Haytham a Templar. There was no way around it; they just could not, would not _ever_ be successful together. Connor was far too blind, too naïve, too impulsive. So many times he’d tried to correct his son, to show him how reality really was, but alas, the boy refused to listen. Of course, out of anything, Connor would inherit his father's stubbornness!

Haytham sighed as he made his way into his quarters at Fort George.

Immediately he tensed, sensing another presence in the room. It took a few moments for his eyes adjusted to the darkness, but he could make out the figure of Charles Lee, leaning against a far wall.

Haytham's fists clenched at his sides, lips pursed. Did he not say time and time again, for no one to enter his quarters if he wasn't there? He was the Grand Master, damn-it. Respect and privacy were expected, especially from his second-in-command!

“Charles. What in the bloody hell are you doing here?”

To Haytham’s further astonishment, instead of receiving any kind of reply, Charles pulled out a pistol, daring enough to aim it straight at the Grand Master’s chest, “Sir. What were you doing with the Assassin?”

“Pardon me?”

“One of the recruits tell me you’ve been working alongside that damned half-breed Assassin. Just whose side are you on, Haytham? Did you aid him in killing our comrades? Thomas? Johnson? Pitcairn? Are you helping him tear apart our order from the inside?”

“Charles, I had nothing to do with the murders he committed. I merely ran into the man during my investigation of Church. There was an obvious strategic advantage of working together to take out the traitor. I have come to realize - my son is grossly mislead. He can be converted to our cause if you’d give me time. He’d be a strong addition to our order.”

Charles scoffed, “You’ve grown soft, Haytham. Ever since your little vacation with that savage in the woods. There’s no way the mutt can be converted. I had no choice but to notify Reginald Birch of your traitorous actions.”

“You did _what_?”

It was taking every ounce of self-control for Haytham to stop himself from tearing Charles limb from limb, loyal accomplice or not. During the 20-some odd years since he first met the man, Haytham had watched his ego grow, his hunger for power and control becoming quite the nuisance. Really, this sequence of events could’ve been predicted had he taken a long look at the facts. Haytham was thoroughly disgusted with himself for allowing anyone in the order to find out he was working with Connor. Especially Charles.

“Sir. You’ve been exiled from the Order. I will take over your place as Grand Master. I’ve been ordered to kill you when I saw you again. However, since you have been such a great mentor for all these years, I am giving you this last chance to run.” Charles stepped closer to Haytham, the pistol now pressed against his chest, “After tonight I will not hesitate to fulfill those orders. So I’d suggest you leave this town and just disappear.”

Haytham stiffly nodded. Connor had officially taken everything from him. His comrades, now his reputation and his power.

Haytham had every reason to hate his son, every reason to kill him. Connor would pay. Haytham wouldn’t waste another thought, another ally’s death, another ounce of affection to the Assassin scum. He would regain the Templars’ trust once he brought the Assassins’ colonial branch down to nothing. As he had once, he would do so again. This time he would not make any mistakes, wouldn't hesitate to end the Assassin's life, son or not.

That’s what he told himself. Yet he was lacking the confidence and the hatred required to carry out those wishes.

* * *

Meanwhile, Connor spent his time recruiting and training, trying to distract himself from the memories of Ziio and Kanen’to;kon that plagued his mind. His thoughts often returned to Washington as well, only rekindling his anger. It was still so hard to believe, that the man he’d believed to be his ally, the commander of the Continental _Army_ of all people, could be the reason behind the deaths of so many natives. Behind his _mother's_ death.

Weren’t they fighting for _freedom_? Liberty? Equality? What happened to those morals on the day 5-year-old Connor was forced to watch his mother burn to death?

Washington was the ultimate hypocrite. A traitor. Perhaps he should’ve allowed the Templars to finish him after all.

Connor was forced to pause in his task of idly grooming the horses. He'd joined the Assassins purely for revenge on his mother's killers. Which, for his entire life, he'd believed were the Templars. If he'd known the truth right from the beginning... would he still be an Assassin?

He was interrupted from his thoughts by the low rumbling of thunder. In his pondering, he'd failed to notice how dark the sky had grown, the sun blocked by clouds dark with the promise of rain.

He gazed out over the homestead, attention snapping to the road when he caught sight of a figure. The Assassin mentor set down the brush and braced himself for a fight as this figure ran toward him, growing larger and clearer as it neared. The figure turned out to be one of his recruits, a certain Jacob Zenger, currently gasping for air.

“I have news. You’re not going to like it.”

Connor pulled the man aside, having him sit on a nearby crate. He gave the man a few minutes to catch his breath before questioning him.

“What has happened?”

“Apparently there is a new Templar Grand Master, Connor.”

“My father… does that mean he…”

Connor had pushed away any thoughts of his father after he'd ended their 'allegiance'. If he could even call it so. Wrongly, throughout their missions together, he'd come to believe Haytham might actually be trustworthy, but the man continued to withhold information. What _else_ did he know?

Yet Connor’s stagnant anger dissipated completely at the suggestion of the man's demise. Imagining his father’s cold and lifeless corpse before him, Connor found he didn’t feel any bit victorious or triumphant as he once believed he would. Now there was only remorse and guilt. As if he'd driven the final blow himself.

“No, no, Connor. From what I gathered in New York, Haytham was exiled. Caught working with an Assassin.” Well shit. Someone saw them and it cost Haytham his position in the order. No doubt, in Haytham's eyes, the blame would be placed upon Connor, despite the allegiance being Haytham's suggestion. However, father or not, the man was still his enemy.

Haytham deserved to be stripped of all his power for the things he’d done.

Even so, guilt still gripped the Assassin, and he couldn't deny his relief that the punishment had not been his father’s life. But... if Haytham was exiled...

“Then who is the current Grand Master?”

Jacob scratched the back of his neck, “Well… obviously the position would be granted to the second-in-command.”

For a moment, Connor was still, paralyzed with anger. Cussing under his breath in his native tongue, he began pacing, fists clenching and unclenching, “ _Charles Lee_ is the Templar Grand Master?”

“I’m afraid so, Connor.”

Jacob had been a bit afraid to break the news to Connor. His undying hatred for Charles Lee was no secret among the recruits. Sometimes, just the very mention of the name could send Connor into a rampage. Jacob was surprised, albeit thankful, that his mentor was not currently punching holes into the stables’ wall.

“Where has my father gone?”

“The last time he was seen was a few days ago, heading out of New York. He was without any belongings or provisions. I can only assume he is somewhere in the frontier by now. Connor, I know you probably want to go find him… but he is our _enemy_. Don’t you think you should just leave him out there to starve to death?”

Jacob shifted uncomfortably under Connor's fiery glare, “As you said, he is no longer a Templar, nor does he have any influence or power over them. He is my father. We were allies for a while, even if that time had been short. I can not leave him out there, Jacob. I _must_ find him.”

“Connor…”

“I do not wish to hear any more. I know the risks, and I have chosen to take them.”

* * *

As misfortune would have it, the first rain began to fall just as Connor was saddling his strongest horse. The downpour only grew, cold needles against his face, paired by harsh wind as the Assassin rode out into the frontier.

He followed the main trail into the wilderness, carefully scanning the trees, but his vision was terribly blurred by the rain. The storm had muddied the trail, washing away any sign of footprints.

It wasn’t until a couple hours later, well into evening before the rain finally ceased and the storm passed. After a bit more wandering, shivering all the while in his soaked robes, Connor spotted a recently-abandoned camp not far away and rode up to it. He searched the area around the camp until he finally caught sight of a dark figure slinking off into the woods.

He caught up quickly. Thankfully, the figure had indeed been Haytham, clutching himself tightly against the cold.

Haytham sighed heavily as his son called out to him, closing the distance between them in moments. Connor was the _last_ person he wanted to deal with that very moment.

“Why did you follow me, Connor?” He practically hissed up at his son.

“I can not leave you out here without food or provisions.”

“You’re the one who forced me into this damned situation, Boy!”

“I am only here to help, Father.”

“Help? Connor, you’ve done _plenty_ as it is! You killed my comrades and now you’ve taken my authority from me. I don't require your damned help.”

Haytham made to continue on, to leave his son far behind, but Connor simply rode his horse into Haytham’s path, blocking his escape. Connor stared emotionlessly down at his father, “Just get on the horse.”

Haytham refused to budge, taking to simply glaring at his obnoxiously stubborn son. The menace the glare was intended to portray was lost on the Assassin, however.

“Father, do not make me drag you up here myself.”

Haytham scowled, “You will not touch me.” By all means, the boy could _try_ , but Haytham couldn't garuntee the boy's hands would still be functional afterwards. Ah, one more similarity between them; the sheer hatred of being touched.

The ex-Templar visibly shivered as a breeze picked up; his clothes were soaked and clung uncomfortably to his skin. As of yet, the air still held the promise of more rain yet to come. A night outside in this weather would be far from pleasant.

Caving in, Haytham finally climbed up onto the horse, absolutely loathing Connor's smug grin. He would give in to his son's wish only because he’d rather take advantage of his sympathy than spend an entire night outside in a storm.

Yeah, that was _definitely_ the only reason.


	2. Chapter 2

As they finally arrived at the homestead, Haytham was overcome with a number of feelings that sent his nerves on edge. First of all, Connor was bringing him straight into Assasin territory. How the boy could be so naive was beyond the ex-Templar.

The second thought that occurred to Haytham was thus; this was _Achilles's_ homestead. The one man who'd Haytham spared, believing the old, crippled man couldn't be of any more threat to his order.

Oh, how he was wrong.

The blasted old man just happened to mentor Haytham’s own son into being an Assassin. _The_ Assassin that resurrected the brotherhood and had managed to cut off all the vitals of the Templars’ system. _The_ Assassin that drove him into exile.

Now he was being brought back into their midst by that same Assassin, for who-knows-what reason or plan Connor had in mind. The boy probably thought Haytham would finally cave to his cause now that he was exiled. That being helped by the Assassins would make him more sympathetic, would make them join their petty brotherhood. Perhaps Connor just thought they might possibly be a family now. Connor would not have his way!

Haytham was to set out with a horse and ample provisions the following morning. There was no way he would allow himself be indebted to a damned Assassin who cost him everything and sent his work to ruins, his effort to mean nothing.

At least Connor had revealed their location.

The pair arrived at the stables and just as they were dismounting, they were greeted then by Connor’s recruits who immediately drew their hidden blades.

“Connor! Why is he here?” Dobby glared at the elder man.

“Calm down. My Father is no longer a threat and has been exiled.”

Dobby and the other recruit exchanged odd looks, “Alright Connor, but we _will_ be keeping a close eye on him. This could be a ruse.” The recruits would’ve continued their protest, but the middle of a thunderstorm was not the most preferable place for it.

Haytham rolled his eyes. These were trainees with very little experience to draw from, maybe a few months of fighting at most; Haytham, however, had a lifetime’s worth. They were ignorant to believe they had _any_ sort of power over him. Naïve just like their mentor.

Connor lead him from the stables to a large, well-maintained manor.

Achilles’s manor.

It had been quite a while since Haytham had last seen the man. The memory was still clear in his mind; he could see Achilles, crippled before him, blood spreading over the ice. The pure hatred on the man’s face would never be forgotten.

Haytham tensed, then turned to Connor, “Achilles? He still lives here, doesn’t he?”

Connor halted in his tracks. He didn’t bother to turn around and face his father, only stared at the floor as he forced out the words, “No… Achilles is… no longer here.”

Haytham couldn’t fight the relief spreading through his chest at avoiding such an awkward reunion with the old man. Yet he also cringed inside at the strong emotion in Connor’s voice. They must've been close. With that said, how much had Achilles revealed about the events of just 20 years prior?

“How ever did you end up meeting Achilles anyways, Connor?”

Connor sighed heavily, “It was several years after Mother passed. I knew they would come to take our land again. My people would not fight, so I felt it was my duty to protect them myself. I had a sort of… vision that brought me to the homestead. Achilles was very… reluctant at first. I stayed a couple of days in the barn, and I ended up protecting him from a bunch of redcoats. I finally convinced him to train me. That was the first time I’d ever heard of Assassins or Templars.”

So the old man had originally intended to keep his word. His son’s stubbornness was to blame.

“You were given the story from a pointedly biased perspective.”

Connor quickly cut him off, “I asked you about the Templars before. Even if I was given a choice, I would choose the Assassins over the Templars any day.”

Haytham, although soured by the events of the day, didn't wish to argue further, nor was he in any position to do so. He’d been exiled by his own order and was currently in the middle of his enemy’s home. The irony of the entire situation was downright sickening.

“Father.” Connor faced him, gesturing for him to follow as he made his way upstairs. He led Haytham to his own bedroom, “You may stay here. I will sleep downstairs in Achilles’ old room.”

As much as Haytham despised the thought of sleeping in the old man’s room himself, sleeping downstairs would have made leaving much easier for him without Connor noticing and attempting to stop him. Now this would be a tad difficult.

* * *

Haytham was given a spare change of clothing while his were hung to dry. Upon being offered food, he simply waved it off. As hungry as he might be, he wished to avoid any more unnecessary interaction with Connor.

Finally alone in the room, he took a look around. The walls were adorned with weapons and various items from Connor’s tribe. _Ziio’s_ tribe. Did the others still remember him? Did they hate him for leaving her behind to raise a child on her own? It’s not like it was his choice anyways and perhaps it had been for the best.

There was that familiar twinge of pain at the memory of Ziio on their final day together. She was wearing that cold, emotionless mask, but her eyes betrayed her pain. It seemed that mask was a common trait the three of them shared.

Sitting on the bed, Haytham imagined the two together; his son and Ziio. Running swiftly through the trees as if they’d been made for just that. Hunting animals with relentless determination and precision. Haytham had no doubt she was the one to teach Connor; his hunting style mirrored hers almost perfectly.

Ah, but here he was again, thinking almost obsessively about Ziio. About the past. It was hard enough to move on from her as it was. His half-native son’s presence was making that much more difficult.

That’s why he had to leave, why he couldn’t entertain their dreams of having any kind of allegiance, as strong as those might be.

* * *

Connor found it difficult to sleep that night. He couldn’t keep his thoughts from roaming back to Achilles, nor his mother or Kanen’to;kon. The memory was painfully fresh; the hidden blade slicing through skin and tissue, blood splattering on to his face as the life faded from his life-long friend’s eyes. Charles was now to blame for Kanen’to;kon’s death as well.

What would happen next; how would the Templars change under Lee’s control?

When Connor finally did find sleep, he was plagued by dreams of his mother. Her face as he was pulled away, too weak to help her, to _save_ her. The burning wood fell down on her, the flames engulfing her, her dying screams wrought with agony. After that, there was Charles, grinning as he choked a young, weak Connor.

Connor awoke much earlier than usual. At first, he assumed it was due to his dreams.

Quickly, he realized the true cause of it. Slow, cautious footsteps were heading down the stairs. There was only one other in the manor to whom they could belong.

What was Haytham doing sneaking around the manor? Especially so early in the morning? Connor got to his feet and quietly made his way into the hall.

Haytham was dressed in his own clothes once again, though Connor was sure they couldn’t be dry yet. So the man was determined to leave without anything connecting him to the Assassins. Not surprising. It wasn’t until Haytham reached the bottom of the stairs when Connor finally spoke, “What are you doing, Father?”

Haytham froze and sighed, “Leaving. If you believed I had any intention of staying, that we could remain allies in any way, you were wrong.”

Why did Connor always choose the worst times to show up and ruin everything?

Connor scowled and crossed his arms, “I will not stop you, but where will you go? What do you intend to do?”

“That is none of your damn business!”

Connor fought back a smirk, “You really do not have a plan, do you? I offer you a place to sleep, food, and safety. Why not take advantage of it? Merely because we are Assassins? If you go now, both the Templars and the Assassins will be after you.”

Unfortunately, he was right. Haytham had little chance for survival now, with both these groups after him. There was an opportunity here; Haytham had only ask and Connor would probably do just about anything for some Fatherly affection.

“This is a temporary setback. I will be restored.”

“How do you plan to do so? Lead the Templars to our doorstep? Did you really think me so ignorant I would risk the brotherhood’s safety just to have you beside me? You step out that door, the recruits will know you are up to no good and will imprison if not kill you before you have any chance to escape.”

Haytham glared at him. Maybe the boy wasn't _so_ naive after all. The strategic part of his mind told him to take the offer; wait to strike when he’d gained the brotherhood's trust. A more sentimental part reminded him he’d wanted to get to know his son more anyways and there couldn’t be a more perfect opportunity to do so.

No matter what way he looked at the situation, there really were no options left for him anyways. He was still torn inside about wanting to both stay beside his son but also wanting to put as much distance between them as possible. Yet now he had no choice but to remain for his own safety.

Damn.

He sighed, “What exactly do you hope to achieve from my being here, Connor?”

“All I want is peace between you and I, Father. Things do not have to be this way. What must I do to gain your trust?”

Haytham was shocked. He’d expected the boy to bring up some plan how he would take down the Templars using information gained from his Father. Yet he decided to be completely sentimental!

He could use this to his advantage.

“Connor… we will never be anything more than bickering rivals. We will _never_ be a family. Our ideals are much too different, and our stubborn personalities clash. Why do you keep trying to change that? Why, Connor, do you always fight impossible odds?”

“I fight for freedom and equality. That is all. All I want from you is a chance, Father. You can’t deny we can accomplish much more together than we can on our own.”  
Haytham leaned against the door, arms crossed. He had been presented with a difficult ultimatum. He could destroy the Assassins from inside out, once and for all and regain his rightful place as Templar Grand Master. Or he could use his son.

“Fine. I will stay… for now.”

Connor fought a smile and relaxed against the wall.

“After all, Connor, Charles has become an enemy of mine as well.”

“What do you mean?”

Connor eyed him curiously, eager to know what Charles had done to elicit the Grand Master’s hate. Especially since such Grand Master had once believed in him so fully. He would never admit it excited him to be united with his Father in a common enemy once again, even if their reasons differed. However, this time it wasn’t some traitor who merely stole some supplies, no, this time it was Connor’s mortal enemy, the man he despised with every ounce of his being.

“Tch. That bastard found out I was working with you. He was the one to inform our higher-ups. For years his hunger for power has grown, and this was exactly the excuse he needed to have me removed, so that he could take my place.”

“Then you will help me rid of him?”

Haytham met Connor’s eyes, “Yes, Connor. We will kill Charles Lee… together.”


	3. Chapter 3

After a breakfast of bread and cold turkey, Connor and his father retreated to the small library upstairs to plot and scheme. Haytham had decided to reveal the Templars’ true mission to Connor, having decided the risk of breaking his Templar oath was nothing compared to what would happen if he didn’t take action. As much as he hated the fact, he really did need Connor’s help for what had to be done.

“Connor. When I was first sent to America, I came to investigate a sort of… laboratory. A precursor site from-“

“Those who came before. The first civilization.”

Haytham squinted at his son, “What do you know of them?”

“I have heard stories of them. Of ‘artifacts’ they left behind.” Connor decided not to tell his father about the Apple of Eden until he knew he could trust him. That is, if he ever really could.

“Well. We were after those artifacts. I have a journal filled with investigations into their locations. I even had the amulet. But now that I’ve been exiled, I’m sure Charles has taken everything I own. The problem is he will use them to do ill. If you think Charles was a bad person 20 years ago, that’s nothing compared to what he’s become.”

Haytham thought back to the countless times Charles had beaten people in the street for even the slightest insult to his mentor. At first, it flattered him a little, even reminded him of that time as a child outside the theatre with his father; Reginald nearly killed that man for attempting to rob his mother.

Yet this was different, something much more dangerous. Even with Haytham’s warnings not to do so, Charles had lashed out more and more at passersby any chance he got when in the streets. That had been the first clue; he was turning into another Reginald. He even mirrored the man’s unhealthy obsession with the precursor artifacts. 

Perhaps that was when Charles had changed; when Haytham ordered they cease searching for the precursor laboratory. Why Charles had continued threatening the natives, including nearly killing his son, while Haytham was thousands of miles away in Europe without a clue. Even upon the Grand Master’s return, the man was chasing leads, taking out targets without Haytham’s knowledge.  Questioning Haytham’s every move. The list of transgressions went on.

“What do we do, then?”

“First, we will need new clothes. Our current garments are so recognizable it’s nauseating. Then, you will accompany me to fort George at night and I will retrieve anything Charles should never lay eyes on.”

\----

As the sky took on the orange glows of sunset, Haytham and Connor made their way into the frontier on horseback, bringing ample money and some food and water. They were silent during the ride, but it was not an uncomfortable silence.

They reached New York the following morning, where they bought new clothes and leather satchels for their things.  Luckily, neither were recognized during their various errands. Haytham made sure the inn they made accommodations at was owned by people the Templars openly disliked, as to avoid any unwanted confrontation.

All that was left to do was wait for nightfall.

They sat on their separate beds in silence. Normally when not on a mission or recruiting, Connor would be speaking with the homesteaders, or more likely, free-running through trees. Right now, he could do neither. Sitting still in such a small room with his Father, the ex-Templar Grand Master of all people, was starting to make him anxious.

He turned to his Father, who was completely content to simply lay back with his arms behind his head in silent contemplation. He wondered what the man would be doing if he wasn’t currently exiled and stuck in this room.

Connor realized he didn’t really know much of anything about his father. Just his political association, that he was stubborn, and had a knack for violence. Yet Connor could not think of a single detail about the man’s hobbies or interests otherwise.

Meanwhile, Haytham was wondering again just how he’d come to end up in a small room with his son, waiting for nightfall to arrive so he could infiltrate his own damn home.

Had he made the wrong choice to go against his own order? To hide everything he’d worked years as a Templar to discover as to prevent the Templars from obtaining such objects? It seemed everything in his life was centered around a sickening irony.

He could remedy this; He could kill Connor and reclaim his rightful place as Templar Grand Master. No one would bat an eye. Perhaps, he’d even win back Charles Lee’s respect if he did so.

But he wouldn’t, and he still didn’t understand what inside was stopping him.

\----

As soon as the sun slipped under the horizon, Haytham and Connor set out for Fort George.

Haytham was clad in a long black hooded coat, the very same he’d worn to Connor’s execution. His other lay discarded and forgotten on the floor of their room back at the inn. Connor was similarly dressed, at Haytham’s encouragement.

Haytham reached back behind his head and pulled out the red ribbon, letting his hair fall free around his shoulders. The ribbon was safely tucked into his pocket.

Connor could only stare and Haytham scowled, “What?”

“I have never seen you with your hair down. I did not realize how long it was.”

“Neither have the Templars, which is precisely why I’m doing this. Up close it won’t matter but from further away it could make all the difference. Now stop gawking, Boy, and do the same!”

Connor had to admit; sometimes the old man had some good ideas. Connor quickly undid his own ponytail. Haytham noted Connor’s un-pinned hair made him seem all the more wild, all the more untamed. Like this, he looked even more like his mother. It was not in the least bit a bad look for him.

There weren’t as many guards out as there were during the day in New York, and it was easy for the pair to disappear into the shadows if any came too close.

Haytham led the way to Fort George, where he and Connor crouched in the bushes before planning their next move. Two guards blocked the entrance, and Haytham knew from experience there was no alternate way into the fort.

“The guards here all know my face, Connor. You need to find a way to distract them or lead them away.”

Connor nodded and made his way into the street. He then pushed the guards until they made chase to him. As anticipated, they followed him into a back alleyway. Meanwhile, Haytham hastily ran into the fort, hiding behind a corner as a patrol made his rounds. Once the coast was clear, he continued onward to his former quarters.

He leaned against the door, listening for Charles or any intruders, but there was no one. Trying the door, he found it was unlocked and swung open without problem.

Connor was beside him then, catching his breath, “What… Where is?”

“Damn it all!” Haytham growled, shaking his head.

His quarters were completely empty, void of any of his belongings. He had not expected Charles to make such quick work of moving it all. Clearly the man was desperate for the information he wanted. Now it was just a matter of whether he _found_ the journal the information was hidden within, or mistook it for something less valuable, a mere book of meaningless day-to-day ponderings, tossing it with the other belongings wherever those may be. Haytham hoped the latter was the answer.

“What do we do now?”

Haytham sighed, “One of these bastards MUST know where Charles moved my things.”

“There is a guard on patrol. Perhaps he could be of use?”

“No, no. We need to find someone close to Charles. One of his top recruits perhaps. Fortunately…  I happen to know where one is staying. Come.”

The man Haytham had in mind was named Mark Hernandez. He lived just on the other side of Fort George. It didn’t take long For Haytham and Connor to reach, even with having to duck into an alley from the patrolling guard.

Haytham made quick work of the lock and the two men made their way inside.

Mark and his wife were fast asleep.

“Get up.” Haytham growled, gun pointed at Mark’s head. The man’s eyes shot open and he groaned as he sat upright. Connor pointed his own gun at the man’s wife, who woke confused and dazed as she looked upon the intruders.

“Well if it isn’t the ex-grand master. Tch. Come for revenge, eh?”

“I’d suggest you just tell me where Charles has taken my belongings, and this can be over quickly.”

“That is not your business anymore, Haytham.” He choked on the name as Haytham’s blade sank into his ribcage. The woman opened her mouth to scream, but Connor quickly covered it with his hand.

“If pain will not get you to talk, Mark, perhaps your wife’s suffering will.” Haytham nodded to Connor, who drew his hidden blade, aiming for the woman’s neck. She let out a muffled cry, eyes watering in her terror. She pried desperately at Connor’s arms like a frightened animal, but she was too weak to remove them.

“Wait! Haytham!” Mark spat out in an angry snarl, “Charles was right about you. Damn bloody bastard, always playing dirty, doing what benefits you and only you. You never stopped to think about other people, did ya? Even those you called allies. That was your downfall. It will be your final destruction as well.”

He was met by searing pain in his jaw as Haytham’s fist met his face. Again and again, until both were covered in blood.  The woman was sobbing as quietly as she could beside him, unable to help.

Once again, Haytham forced his blade into Mark’s shoulder. Blood soaked through the man’s shirt, into the bed-sheets as metal sliced through flesh and tissue, right up to the bone. Haytham was growing rather impatient.

“Tell me what I want to know, Mark.”

The man coughed up a handful of thick, dark blood before chuckling, “In the old storage house. Won’t do ya any good, Haytham. Charles already has what he needs.”

“We will see.”

Blood and gray matter splattered over the walls and the woman let out another wail. She grabbed at Connor’s arms with renewed urgency, pleading, “Please… let me live… I won’t say a word about any of this!”

Connor nodded and stepped aside as Haytham rolled his eyes from across the room. The boy was way too damn merciful. The woman scrambled to her feet and made haste for the door.

She didn’t make it.

Her headless body fell limp against the floor, blood forming a pool around her. Haytham holstered his gun while Connor glared at him.

“She did not need-“

“Please. We just killed her husband. You think she’s not going to seek revenge? That she’s NOT going to alert the guards?”

Connor strained to keep from continuing the argument and instead followed Haytham out into the street.

The very first hints of sunlight were already visible over the buildings and trees. More people were wandering the streets, and more guards were sure soon to follow. Especially once the bodies in the alley were found.

Haytham insisted they rest at the inn before retrieving the belongings the following night. That would allow them more time to search for what was needed anyways. He just hoped Charles wouldn’t find the journal in the meantime.

They made their way back to their room at the inn without incident. As Haytham pulled off his coat and boots, he said, “Perhaps you should go order us some breakfast. All this running around has made me hungry.” Connor rolled his eyes and made for the door.

“And don’t cause any trouble while you’re out there, Boy!”

\-----

As they ate their porridge, Haytham thought about Zio again. It couldn’t be helped; their child, the product of their love, was sitting only a few inches from him. He couldn’t help but wonder all that she’d said about him to Connor. Maybe she hadn’t said anything at all.

He finally gave in to curiosity and asked, “What did your mother say of me?”

Connor chewed the rest of the contents in his mouth slowly before swallowing. He shifted uncomfortably, “She did not speak much of you. But the few things she did say… she was very fond of you. She missed you a lot. You were always focused on your work, building a future for the Templars. She had hoped to change your mind.” He smirked as he remembered little details. The dreamy mist in Ziio’s eyes when she thought of Haytham for too long. How she would sometimes compare her son’s mannerisms and personality to Haytham’s, shaking her head.

She had been right. They were both stubborn and driven by relentless determination.

Haytham was quiet a moment, lost in his own painful trip through time. Back to the time they’d shared. Sitting in the woods, playing with her hair as he listened to her stories. Tales and legends believed by the natives, passed through the generations. He was amused by the simplistic and odd names they gave foreign inventions, especially compared to the complex names amongst tribe members.

He never did learn how to pronounce Zio’s full name.

Eventually he sighed and pushed aside his half-eaten breakfast, “I see. I will be going to sleep. You should too.”

He did not meet Connor’s eyes as he spoke. Connor was quickly catching on to the subtle ways his eyes betrayed his emotionless mask. Hiding emotions behind a stern, seemingly cold mask, yes; that that was a habit Connor had seen in his mother as well.

Did she pick that up from Haytham, or did he get it from her? Or was that just something they shared, something that had brought them together, made them familiar to each other in a way nobody else would understand?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only recently finished AC: Forsaken, which I hadn't even started reading when I started this fanfic.  
> Which is why Reginald is still alive (oops) but I've adjusted slightly my plans for future chapters to deal with that plot-hole (I hate that guy so much holyshit)
> 
> Anyways,
> 
> Enjoy :)

That night Connor and Haytham once again found themselves outside Fort George, hiding in the bushes. There were extra guards patrolling, and these seemed much more alert than the previous ones; undoubtedly due to Haytham and Connor’s actions from the previous night. This time, they instituted a slightly more complex plan than before.

Haytham stood before the guards, hands in the air as they immediately pointed muskets at him. While they were distracted, Connor made his way atop the nearest rooftop. Before either of them had recognized the exiled Grand-Master, arrows pierced their chests with expert precision, and both collapsed with breathless gasps.

The pair made their way into the Fort, this time heading to the old storage house. Luckily it wasn’t too far away and was left unguarded. Either Charles wasn’t aware of their intentions, or he already had everything he needed. Nonetheless, Haytham was able to easily break the lock and they made their way inside.

He took an oil lantern from a nearby table and lit it. The storage house was filled with crates, barrels, broken weapons and old, broken furniture. The air was stale and musky.  Connor silently flinched as a rat squealed and ran across the floor. Haytham didn’t seem to notice or care.

“What exactly is all this stuff doing here?” Connor asked, unable to retain his curiosity. The Assassins did not have a place for storage such as this. Only the basement in the manor for his outfits and weapons, but that was roughly a quarter of the size of this place.

“Evidence.” Haytham stated quite simply. Connor thought to inquire further, but decided he rather didn’t want to know.

Moments later Haytham let out a triumphant “Ah!” as he found his stuff lazily dumped into a heap. He sifted through it, tossing aside things he didn’t need.  Among a pile of books, he grabbed a thin journal with the letter “H” scribbled with ink in the corner and stuffed it inside his leather bag. He continued to dig, but sighed heavily and shook his head in defeat.

“What is it?” Connor peered over the man’s shoulder.

“The amulet.  It’s not here. Of course Charles must have found it already.” Haytham shook his head again and stood, “Let’s go.”

\------

Back in the relative safety of the inn, Haytham sat beside the window, legs propped up on the table. The mysterious journal with the H on it was open in his lap, his eyes scanning the words and pages carefully. His eyebrows were drawn in undivided focus. Outside, the sun was just starting to rise, providing Haytham with just enough light to read by.

Connor sat on his bed on the other side of the room. He’d originally been trying to rest, but he was once again, unable to. So instead he decided to watch his father read. Neither had spoken a word in the past hour since he’d begun.

“Father, why did you choose that journal, out of everything that was at the storage house?”

He continued reading and his expression remained unchanged, “Jim Holden was a Templar. An old friend of mine, in fact. He also knew of the precursor race and the artifacts, but unlike me, he knew how Reginald would use them for ill... so he hid everything he learned in this journal, expertly hidden within meaningless accounts of his experiences and thoughts on life and the sort,” he flipped the page, “With that in mind… after his death, I also added my own discoveries. In symbolism that nobody but me would understand.

“What seems like useless scribbles—actually deadly secrets hidden in plain sight. I used to be just as focused on Those-Who-Came-Before as much as he and Reginald were. After I figured out the kind of man Reginald actually was… I hid any of my findings from him, with the front we were getting nowhere on the search. I had my own men, without Birch’s knowledge, hunting down every lead we had,” Haytham laughed to himself, “It was your mother who brought me out of that obsession. Made me realize…”

“So why is it important now? What will we do with this information?”

“Unfortunately, Charles was one of the men helping with my secret investigations… I have no doubt he’s run to Reginald by now and spilled everything. They’ll be after those artifacts. I need time to decode the notes in the journal, so that we might go after them, find them first. However, we still need to get the amulet from Charles.” Haytham shut the journal and set it aside, “We will worry about that tomorrow.”

\------ 

Haytham woke long before Connor and quietly redressed himself in his original blue coat and tricorn hat. Once everything seemed to be in proper order, hair refastened into a ponytail, he took one last look at his son, still sleeping soundly. He was completely relaxed, soft snores almost soothing. Haytham frowned, slightly jealous at his ease. When was the last time Haytham had felt so peaceful?

Careful not to wake his son, he slipped out of the inn unnoticed.

On his hunt for Lee, Haytham first checked the Green Dragon. This had been their headquarters once, after all. Charles, however, was nowhere to be found.

The owners recognized Haytham at once and sent him friendly smiles and waves. He kindly rejected their offers of food and drink, making it clear to them and everyone else present, this was only a brief visit. Yet others in the room glared at him suspiciously over their shoulders, others avoiding eye contact at all costs. It almost made him tense. Almost.

Not too far away, he found another face he recognized; a recent new recruit of Lee’s. The man obviously recognized Haytham as well, for he suddenly stiffened.

“Hello, Lad. Mind telling me what’s happened since my… departure?” Haytham took a seat and clasped his hands on the table.

“Lee’s got everyone lookin’ for the laboratory again. Anyone who opposes ‘em gets a bullet in the head. Same for anyone who questions em’ or still supportin’ you. Make this quick, sir, I don’t plan on getting my ass killed for you.”

“Of course, just one more thing. Would you kindly tell me where Lee has gone off to?”

The man took a swig of his beer before answering, “Huntin’ you down. He’s pretty pissed ‘bout what you did at Fort George these past few days. I recon he’s got his higher-recruits scanning the streets for you. Ask ‘em.”

“Many thanks.”

The recruit had been correct. Haytham quickly found himself at the end of several muskets after roaming the streets, eavesdropping on guards. Silently reproaching himself for his recklessness, he complied with their orders and followed them back to Fort George, where he was met by Charles himself.

The man now had a much more confident aura about him though Haytham could not pinpoint exactly what it was about him that had changed other than his newfound power. His _stolen_ power.

Ah, that was it. The man had taken extra time to properly groom himself that morning, combing his hair and shaving.

“I told you to disappear, Haytham. You have no reason to be here anymore. Did you think you could get away with killing my men and stealing property of the Order’s?”

“Is it really stealing when it was mine to begin with, Charles? I don’t appreciate hypocrisy or theft, especially that of power.”

Charles smirked, “It is for the best. Our order will grow strong under my rule. You won’t be able to ruin us anymore. Finish him.” He nodded to the guard beside him.

Before the man could fire, an arrow pierced his chest and he collapsed with a pained gurgle, blood soaking the front side of his shirt. Now who could’ve done that? It was slightly humiliating, having to be saved by his son (for the _second_ time too), but really, the boy’s arrival couldn’t be any more well-timed.

“What the devil?” Charles exclaimed, turning to the source of the arrow. Another guard was taken out, arrow piercing his stomach, and Haytham used the moment of confusion to break free; killing the two guards holding him in place with well-times swipes of his hidden blade.

Beyond them, Connor jumped down from the rooftops and pointed his bow at Charles, now without the defense of the guards. Haytham withdrew his pistol and took aim as well. Yet this all felt way too easy. Could they kill him so soon, take the amulet and disappear? No… no, this situation wasn’t right.

Charles’s glare darted between the two a few times before he chuckled.

“Give us the amulet, Charles.”

“No, I don’t think so, Haytham.” He reached into a bag at his side, pulling out a gold sphere. Odd symbols were engraved in it and the strange object seemed to glow in Lee’s hand.

Connor noticeably tensed as brown eyes grew wide in horror. He made to send an arrow through the man’s heart before he could do anything, but wasn’t quite fast enough. Charles raised the sphere and a pulse of golden light sent both Connor and Haytham rolling.

It took a minute for Haytham to recollect his senses and get to his feet, feeling the onset of a headache. This was not good… where did Charles get that thing from? More importantly, what the hell _was_ it? He tried to think back to Holden, to the journal, remember anything describing such an object. The headache was making that too difficult.

Connor’s bow had been knocked away from him during the tumble, the string broken. He muttered obscenities as he scrambled to his feet, reaching for the weapon.

By then more guards had arrived to defend Charles.  As Charles raised the orb again, Haytham and Connor decided, with silent nods, to make their escape rather than continue the useless fight. A couple guards made chase, but were quickly lost to their speed as they ducked around sharp corners and dashed up the sides of buildings.

\-----

Connor slammed the door of their room shut behind them, “How the hell did Charles get it…”

Haytham turned sharply to glare at the boy, “You knew what that thing is? Explain this to me, Boy!”

“My people have kept it safe for generations. It is a means of communication from the precursor race to us… this was how I had the vision that sent me to Achilles,” Connor paced the room, shaking his head, “However, it is also capable of much more. I do not understand how he obtained it…”

Haytham sighed, rubbing his temples, “He must have convinced the natives to give it to him when he was using them to fight the Continental Army. Never did he mention the artifact’s existence to me. Neither did you,” he snapped at Connor, “and you were angry that _I_ withheld information.”

“I needed to know I could trust you.”

Really? The damn boy still didn’t trust him after everything he’d revealed?

“Trust? Connor, I revealed the true purposes of the Templars’ plots; the very core of our work. I have now broken every law the Templars have, in the sake of helping you! If you and I are going to succeed, I expect you to extend any information you might have. This is no longer just about the Templars and Assassins, Boy. With that object, Charles could make slaves of everyone in this world!”

Connor crossed his arms, glaring at his father, “You are only angry because it is not you who gets the control now. You and the Templars probably meant for this to happen.”

Did the lad even listen to anything he said? Really, this was becoming troublesome, “I meant to collect these artifacts to _stop_ this from happening!”

“You may dress it in kind and just wording, but your cause is obvious.”

Haytham was suddenly upon the boy, pinning him against the wall, hidden blade against his throat, “You are naïve and oblivious. Do not for one moment think yourself better than others based upon what you _think_ you know about them. You may just find the truth to be the exact opposite.”

In one swift motion, Connor punched him in the gut and had reversed their positions. He withdrew his own hidden blade and aimed at the elder man’s chest, “I know enough about you and those you work with. You mean to enslave and overpower. To take away liberty and freedom. Your intentions are ill and unjust.”

“If you think me so evil, Connor, tell me… why do you insist so determinedly that we work together?”

For a moment, Connor was silent, distracted. It was all Haytham needed to knock Connor’s blade away and shove him aside.

Both stood on opposing sides of the room, glaring daggers at one another. The tension was almost tangible.

Haytham silently pondered taking his stuff and leaving. How could they succeed when all they did was fight? When the damn boy was so determined to try his patience, insisting he was evil and untrustworthy, despite everything Haytham told him, everything he’d done for him? 

It was Connor who finally broke the silence with a sigh, “I insist we work together because it will make taking down Charles easier. Like you said, he is evil and… maniacal.”

“Isn’t that what you think of ALL Templars? That’s why you distrust me still, without proper reasoning; simply because I’m a Templar. Then why stay?”

“Technically, you are no longer a Templar.”

“Only in title. Because of _you_ , Boy.”

“I do not believe you to be like the other Templars, Father. If you were, you would have killed me long ago, back at the abandoned church.”

 If the boy admitted to Haytham’s obvious difference from the others, why did he _still_ distrust him? He was talking in circles… no. This wasn’t really about the Templars anymore, was it? This was personal.

“I saw the strategic advantage of using you to track Ben.”

That was the truth; a pest needed to be exterminated, but that was obvious.

“Even after Church was dealt with, you did not kill me. So that must not be the only reason, is it, Father?”

“If you’re expecting or hoping that I’m going to give you some heartfelt speech about wanting to forge a familial bond with you, once again, you are wrong. My work with you is only to stop Charles Lee. After that, we are done. Remember that, Connor, we are enemies. Our blood means nothing.”

Hurt briefly flashed through Connor’s eyes before his expression returned to its cold mask. So that really was it after all, Haytham had struck a nerve.

Goddamn-it, sentimentality just couldn’t get in the way. It would screw everything up, and this time the mission was more than a simple thief; it was stopping the forthcoming of a dictatorship. Why couldn’t the stubborn lad just get that through his head? How many times was he going to force Haytham to break his spirit to make him understand that?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to say thanks to everyone who left kudos! It always brightens my day to see feedback, you guys motivate me so much! Thank you! :D
> 
> Also, I've decided I will be updating this on Mondays.
> 
> enjoy :)

Unable to withstand being in the proximity of his ass-for-a-father for another second, Connor pushed past him and promptly slammed the door behind him. As soon as he was outside, he climbed to the roof and took to free-running, jumping from building to building with practiced ease.  Rooftops and trees were a blur to him as he ran, his heartbeat and the slamming of feet on the shingles of roofs the only things he heard.

The rush of adrenaline and the wind in his hair was enough (usually) to clear his mind, giving him time to calm down and rethink. Yet even with this, his chest still felt tight, his throat sore and dry.

He didn’t quite make it to the branch he’d been aiming to land on. Losing his footing, Connor suddenly found himself dangling by the grip of one hand. This branch was three stories high, a fall from this height would surely end in some unpleasant injury. An injury was the last thing he needed right now, especially since his father would have to be the one to aid him, and how pleasant that would be! Taking a deep breath, he pulled himself up into the tree, deciding to rest here rather than risk a less-lucky accident by continuing the run.

Now isolated and far away from anyone, most importantly Haytham, he stopped trying to push away his thoughts, his feelings.

How could he be so stupid as to think his father would ever wish to develop a friendship? Was that all they had; the constant bickering and fighting? Could it ever be different between them? That chance was slim to none.

Yet Connor had always been one to cling desperately to small hopes. Haytham had spared him countless times whereas his murder would’ve been quick and easy. Surely he’d been a major target to the Templars. Even then, Haytham had allied with him to bring down Church; had trusted him enough back then to remain at his side.

Connor was so sure they’d forged some kind of bond, but Haytham took every chance to deny it, to tear apart any hope or ounce of trust the boy had.

Perhaps he should just give it up. There was nothing there for him to gain, not an ally and most certainly not a father. He would always be left disappointed. That’s just how life had always been for him.

Uncaring. Merciless. Frustrating. Disappointing.

From his mother’s death, to Achilles, to Washington’s betrayal and Kanen’to;kon’s death.  His Father was simply another name to add to the list of things he wanted but couldn’t have. A man he wanted to know, but that man was to forever remain a ghost, ever eluding him, disappearing when he reached out.   ------

Haytham had never been any good at restraining his anger or conveying anything but cold disinterest or even hatred, especially since his stolen time with Ziio. That’s simply what the world had done to him, how he had adapted to cope with his frustrations.

He never should’ve agreed to help Connor. The boy was simply a tool to him; a way to retrieve what he needed. He didn’t need the boy to be getting attached. A harsh face to reality was what Connor had required; to realize they could be nothing more than temporary allies.

So why did Haytham feel hollow and physically sick inside once Connor disappeared?

He had half a mind still to simply pack up his things and disappear. Yet he couldn’t, because he needed Connor. That was made obvious to him just that morning; if Connor hadn’t found him in time, he’d probably be dead already, and a dead man can’t save the world.

So why couldn’t they just get along? Connor had wanted his trust and he had spilled everything he knew. He’d expected Connor would do the same. Trust was supposed to be built between both parties, it couldn’t be one-sided, that would just lead to chaos!

Connor’s distrust in Haytham stemmed from his position as a Templar, nothing else. As foolish and absolutely silly as it sounded to him, that was the truth.

Well, obviously Haytham wasn’t a Templar anymore. There was a good chance he’d never be allowed back in their ranks anyways even as a recruit, no matter how much he might want it. Really all he could do was tell Connor everything and hope the lad would understand and finally trust him. If that didn’t work, well, Haytham would just have to do this alone after all.

\------

Connor remained in the tree, alone with his thoughts for hours until he had calmed down. Haytham could be cynical, sarcastic and rude all he wanted; that didn’t change the fact that they needed to work together to stop Charles. Connor was determined not to let the man get to his head again, however, that wouldn’t be an easy task. The two of them were like ticking time bombs. Nonetheless, he would try, if not to forge some kind of relationship with his Father, than for the safety of the people.

The sun was nearly set by the time he returned to the inn. Haytham was waiting in his chair, arms crossed, emotionlessly staring at the table.

He looked up only once the door had shut behind his son, “Where did you go?”

“Around.”  It’s not like he actually cared anyways, so why would that matter?

Haytham sighed, “Look, Connor. As much as we might hate the situation, there’s nothing we can do but work together. That means we need to trust one another.”

Connor said nothing, only glared at the floor. So Haytham had come to the same conclusion, something they could _actually_ agree on.

“Sit, Son. Allow me to dispel any suspicions you may have of me. Obviously this is the only way I can get you to trust me.”

Connor’s glare shifted to the elder man. Finally, he pulled out his own chair and sat, “If you long so much for my trust; what all do you know about the burning of my village?”

Of course that would be the first thing he asked. Haytham rubbed his temples, “Washington ordered the burning of your village because of a suspicion that they helped the French. _He_ killed your people, Connor. I, in fact, ordered that we cease locating the precursor site so that your people would not be disturbed from their way of life. I loved Ziio. Her people, your people, they were like a family to me, even if they didn’t exactly approve of me.”

“Then why did you leave?” Haytham was torn between the truth and a white lie about cultural differences. Nah, he couldn’t lie now. That’d ruin the whole point of the conversation.

“Your mother caught me in a lie and was too impatient to allow me to explain myself. She ordered me to leave, and so I granted her wish. Besides, I could not abandon my mission with the Templars.”

Connor scoffed.

“Any more questions?”

Connor shook his head slowly. He seemed… preoccupied. Haytham eyed him, “What troubles you, Boy?”

“Did you know Mother was… pregnant?”

The elder man seemed taken aback. His gaze shifted to the floor before he spoke, quite heavily, “No. If I had perhaps that would’ve made me… more insistent… or simply made it harder to bear my having to leave.”

Yes, if he had known he would’ve begged her to listen. It had been difficult enough to obey her and leave her behind, never to hear from her again. How much worse would it have felt to be forced to leave his unborn child behind? His _only_ one at that?

Such, the stage was set for many nights of wondering… though he acted like the sort of man who never _wondered_ , only _acted_ , that was a lie. That was his true downfall; the wondering, the pain of missed opportunities.

“Why did you join the Templars?”

Images from that night so many years ago at Queen Anne’s square flashed before Haytham’s eyes. His father, bleeding out, dying in front of him… unable to save him. Jenny kidnapped, and again, he’d been unable to do anything. His chest suddenly ached, fists clenching. Was he ever able to do _anything_ right?

His pain was Reginald’s fault, everything was Reginald’s fault. That lying, deceiving prick. He would _die_.

“I was tricked into it through a series of lies and complicated cover-ups. I was never given the choice, but, like I said before, I agree to their morals and system of beliefs. I won’t go into detail now, but… perhaps another time.”

At least Connor felt as though he understood his father more, even if only a little. He was still lost as to why the man felt so loyal to the Templars, especially given how he was apparently ‘forced’ into it, but at least now he could understand the relationship with his mother and his people.  Suddenly he didn’t seem so mysterious and threatening.

The man had taken on a dark, somber expression, staring off into space. Connor felt the urge to change the subject, feeling guilty as to have forced him to talk about the past. Yet this was for the best and Haytham had been right; they needed to trust one another. Plus it felt nice to know a little more about his father. The rest he could find out in time, if the man would allow it.

“Father. Neither of us have eaten all day. Perhaps we should order food and discuss plans?”

Haytham looked up at his son, “Indeed.”

\-------

The food, when it arrived, did not last long between the two starving men. They ate in silence, Connor mulling over all the new things he’d learned of his Father, fighting the curiosity to inquire further. That was for another day, when the time was right.

After their bellies were filled, Haytham pulled over Holden’s journal.

“What have you found from it?” Connor nodded towards the journal, scooting closer as Haytham began flipping through pages.

“Holden was extremely careful in hiding the locations. It’s been years since I’ve even glanced over this journal. His messages, even mine were cyphered. We should-“ He was cut off by a loud knocking at the door and quickly he shut the journal, shoving it aside. He and Connor shared nervous glances, both readying their hidden blades for attack.

“Mentor!”

Connor mumbled under his breath, rose to his feet and quickly answered the door, pulling in a frail man of his early 20’s.

“You told someone our location?” Haytham snapped at Connor. How naïve was he?

“Father, I only told one recruit in order to keep in contact with the others,” Connor glared at the man before him, “He was NOT to come here under any circumstances unless it was an emergency!”

“I a-apologize, Mentor! There has been a situation… its Charles Lee…”

“Out with it!” Haytham shouted, taking a stand beside his son. What the hell was Lee up to so soon after their encounter? He really must be desperate to take such swift action.

“He’s ordered an attack on Kanatahseton… as we speak they make slaves of the villagers… anyone who does not comply is killed. Lee rides out the day after tomorrow to oversee his next orders.”

Connor shook in his rage, “Thank you recruit. Send word that I will be there as soon as I can to help.”  Haytham put a hand on Connor’s shoulder, whether to stop him from storming out the door or as a simple gesture of comfort, he wasn’t sure.

The recruit quickly nodded before scrambling out the door.

“Son, we-“

“Father, I _must_ go help my people. If you were sincere in your word earlier, come with me!”

It had been years since Haytham visited the village. Even though he didn’t exactly prefer to go back, it looked like he had no choice. For his son, and for Ziio, he _had_ to protect the tribe. Besides, this was the perfect way to win Connor’s trust.

“…Okay.” 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had been planning to do a two-chapter update this week (next week too) but ch 7 still needs a little polishing, will be up either later tonight or in the morning.
> 
> for anyone getting impatient for Haythcon, (spoiler) it begins in chapter 10 :D

Even with minimal stops, Connor and Haytham did not reach Kanatahseton until two days after the incident at the inn. Templars had made several camps outside the village, to which they barely avoided. Haytham had to stop Connor several times from caving to his emotions and rushing in; they needed to be careful if they wanted this to work.

After silent executions of the guards at the entrance, they hurried inside, only for their fears to be realized. Many of the natives were in large, metal cages, bloody and bruised. Others were tending crops, overseen by Templars with muskets and whips, swords sheathed at their sides. One native man was on his knees, two Templars pointing muskets at him.

“Please, do not shoot, I-“

“Why shouldn’t we? Damn savage! You think you can do whatever, sneaking around stealing weapons?”

“All we want is peace, this is-“

“Shut up!” The second Templar muttered, thrusting the butt of the gun against the man’s skull. A loud CRACK pierced the air and he fell into the dirt, unconscious.

Connor cussed under his breath in his native tongue from their hiding place among bushes. He couldn’t wait to send these men to their deaths. Haytham elbowed him roughly, earning himself a glare, and pointed towards a nearby tree before running off to a different hiding spot. Connor quickly realized his plan, and climbed the tree into position.

The two Templars never noticed the man in the tree until too late; two blades were plunged into their necks, instantly killing them. Several of the captured natives silently cheered, a couple stared at the fallen bodies in horror.

Three Templars had noticed and rushed over, muskets aimed at Connor, “Don’t move!”

He didn’t need to. Haytham rushed out of the nearest bushes, twisting and breaking the neck of the first guard, using his body as a meat shield as a second fired at him. Connor quickly dispatched the third guard with his tomahawk and the remaining guard’s stomach was sliced open by Haytham’s sword.

Connor made his way to the first cage holding the natives, picking the lock as quickly as he could. His Father stood behind him, sword at the ready for any guards that decided to interrupt.

As the natives were freed, they ran into hiding places, eyeing the other Templars and captive natives. One stopped by Connor, “Thank you, Ratonhnhake:ton!”  
“What else have they done other than capture villagers?”

“They steal our crops and weapons. Most of our belongings have been destroyed, anything valuable given to Lee, killing any people that oppose them. They search for something called ‘the laboratory’ and strange ‘precursor’ objects. Once again, Ratonhnhake:ton, thank you! With your help, we can stop them!”

Haytham had suspected as much. The area had indeed been the most likely location for it, discovered through years of close investigation and details from his Father’s journal. It had been Haytham that stopped the search for the precursor site, for the sake of the natives, and now Lee was continuing that search. Except now, force and violence were involved, all niceties done away with Haytham’s exile.

Connor scowled, “I intend to. Where are your weapons being held?”

“They’ve been sent on a convoy to be sold in town.”

Connor sighed heavily, “Take the muskets off the Templars we have already killed. Distribute them to the freed natives. Take out as many Templars as you can, defend the village.”  
While the man set about the task, Connor and Haytham made their way over to another group of unaware Templars overseeing the farmers. There were five.

Haytham was able to take two out before the others went on defense. Quickly disarming them of their muskets, Connor and Haytham were forced into sword fighting back to back. Metal clashed against metal, each guard quickly cut down by series of parries and well-timed thrusts. Blood poured onto the dirt as a chest was pierced and a lifeless body collapsed with a gasp.

The fight only lasted mere seconds, but by its end, Haytham had attained a long, deep slash in his shoulder, to which he now hissed and pressed a hand against to slow the bleeding. Connor had only small cuts, nothing bad enough to raise concern, and cast a worried glance at his father.

The freed natives managed to dismantle the remaining guards through surprise group attacks, and at last the final group of natives was released.

It was then, as everything started to relax, when Charles made his appearance, mounting a chestnut horse, surrounded by Templars. The armed natives immediately aimed muskets at him as he found the source of the chaos; Haytham and Connor.

He glared in turn at the two of them before shaking his head and calling out, “Bask in your victory as you will. It is, however, small and very temporary. It’s just as well, I already have what was needed. The final step was their extermination. ”

Connor bared his teeth and Haytham was forced to put his arm out to hold him back, mouthing “Not today”.

Charles grinned, “As it happens, there are more important matters that require my attendance. You two may be able to save one of the savages’ villages, but I assure you, you cannot save the entire nation… nor the world.”

Without waiting for a reply, Charles ordered his men retreat, disappearing back into the forest once more.

“We should go after him!” Connor growled.

“Lad, we can’t touch him while he has the apple.”

Haytham almost winced at the glare Connor shot him before sighing in defeat.

“Father, you should have that wound seen to.” He nodded at Haytham’s shoulder.

He didn’t bother to argue, simply followed Connor as he sought out the village Shaman. Truth be told, the wound hurt more than it should. During the fight, he’d hardly noticed it, but now the pain and exhaustion from battle and traveling was overwhelming all other senses. Perhaps it was just due to his age.

\-----

Now, he sat shirtless, sitting on the stump of a tree, the village Shaman cleaning and stitching his wound. Connor sat just a few feet away, observing. It was making Haytham rather self-conscious.

“What are you staring at, Boy?” Haytham finally snapped.

Connor flinched slightly, “I am trying to memorize what he’s doing, so I may repeat if you are injured when there is no Shaman around to tend to you.”

“I won’t need it, Lad. This was just a mishap; as I had to defend you. Won’t happen again.”

Connor rolled his eyes, “Just in case, Father.”

The Shaman finished quickly and wrapped the wound with gauze. Haytham nodded thanks before the man left to tend to others wounded by the Templars. Looking around, Haytham found his shirt and coat beside Connor and made to grab them-

Connor was still staring. Haytham’s lip twitched slightly as he caught Connor’s gaze, “What is it, now?”  
“You… have a lot of scars.”

“Yes. More so than last time I’ve seen you.” A female voice interjected.

Connor whipped around quickly, “Clan mother!”

Oh god. If he was self-conscious before, that was nothing compared to now. Haytham quickly gathered the shirt and coat and slipped into them, wincing as pain shot through his shoulder. Right. Had to take these things slowly now.

Oiá:ner chuckled softly and made her way over to the pair, “It’s a good thing you two came when you did.”

“We would have been here sooner had we known.” Connor sighed, shaking his head. The boy was still tense. His gaze briefly shifted back to a native being tended to by the Shaman, a woman with a swollen, black eye. Perhaps, Connor pondered, had he and his father not been so busy bickering and arguing that morning, they could’ve made it to the village faster, reduce the amount of bloodshed. If only...

“Don’t worry yourself about us, Ratonhnhake:ton. What you should worry about is stopping Boiling Water.”

Haytham had forgotten that’s what the natives called Charles; Boiling Water. It was fitting.

“That is the idea, Oiá:ner.”

She smiled at Connor warmly and then turned to Haytham, “Sit. We need to talk.”

Talk? What could she possibly have to talk to him about? Why he left Zio? Haytham took a deep breath and begrudgingly took his seat again.

Oiá:ner nodded to Connor, who took the hint, standing, “I will go help repairs.”

Haytham wanted to stop the boy, to have the boy close by rather than be left alone. Yet he didn’t. She wanted to speak in private, and she was the Clan Mother, Zio’s mother, after all. How could he deny her that?

She took up the place Connor had just occupied, and sighed, “Don’t be so tense. I haven’t come to lecture you.”

Was he that obvious? He tried to relax, take deep breaths, but it did little. The painful throb in his shoulder wasn’t any help either.

“Despite what the others thought of you, I knew you were good at heart, Haytham.”

“Zio didn’t think so. Yet… I suppose she had all the reason to despise me.”

“Kaniehtí:io had trust issues. You weren’t right to lie about Braddock, but even with that she never truly thought ill of you. After you left, she wasn’t the same.”

  
Haytham fidgeted uncomfortably.

“Clan mother, what is your point?” He really didn’t want to talk about Zio. It was hard enough to get over her with their son around as it was. It was over, it was in the past and nothing could change what happened. No amount of talking or grieving or begging forgiveness would bring her back.

“She wouldn’t have wanted you to sulk in the past, Haytham. She would’ve wanted you to get along with your son also.”

He turned to her, eyebrows furrowed, “I am not sulking and we get along just fine! Look, we worked together to save your village and we’re going to work together to stop Charles Lee.”

Oiá:ner smirked and shook her head, “Not like you should. You are his Father, Haytham. You’re the only family he has left.”

He made to argue, but shut his mouth instead. Instead he averted his gaze, glaring at the ground. She just didn’t get it. How could she? Was she even aware of the whole Templar vs Assassin war?

The clan mother stood, “I’ve seen the way you look at each other. Don’t pretend you don’t care about him. He needs you, either as his father.” She stood, “or as his friend.”

He opened his mouth to deny what she said, tell her the boy was a fully grown, independent man who didn’t really need anyone, but she was already walking away. The conversation was to be dismissed and thought nothing more of. At least, that’s what he would attempt to do.

Instead, he went to find Connor, and found him talking amongst other tribe members. When the boy noticed him, he nodded to the others and made his way to his Father, “What did Clan Mother wish to speak about?”

“Zio. That was all.” He wouldn’t dare mention what she’d said about them. She was wrong. They were enemies, and would never be anything more. Connor was a grown man who never needed him before and that certainly wasn’t about to change. “How are repairs?”

“It will take time. They could use some help, and have offered to let us camp here if we choose to aid them.”

Haytham could see the question in the boy’s eyes. These were his people. Zio’s people. How could he refuse?

He nodded, “I still need time to decipher the journal anyways.”

Connor gave him the faintest of smiles, relief blatant in his eyes, “Thank you, Father.”

Besides, his shoulder needed to heal lest it become a hindrance to their mission, and perhaps spending time with Zio’s people would give him a chance to… well, learn more about what ‘changes’ Oiá:ner claimed he had caused in Zio. No, he was definitely not sulking in the past.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter is short. Like i said, wanted to post with last monday's update, but shit happened and i needed a break. Finally, here it is and yes there will be a two-chapter update THIS monday (for real this time)

“St. Augustine.” A voice shattered the walls of his dream and forced him into consciousness. Damn it all. The past 3 days had been spent hauling wood and rebuilding huts; now all he wanted was to sleep in just a little today, his entire body was sore and spent. 

“What?” Connor grumbled and turned, rubbing his eyes. Haytham had simply barged into his tent, not even bothering to explain himself. The man seemed slightly anxious, his eyes wide, Holden’s journal in hand. 

Haytham kicked him in the side, “That’s where we need to go. Get up.”

Connor shot him a glare and sat upright, joints cracking as he stretched his arms, “Why?” All he wanted was to lie back down and return to his dream. It had been a surprisingly pleasant one, of playing hide and seek as a kid with the other village children. There had been no fire, no pain this time.

Haytham sat beside him and pointed to a page in the journal, “Apparently there are four other known artifacts. Three of them; the Belial, the Maya, and the Volta, connect, but alone each do something different, fairly harmless. Yet together…well, the handler becomes just short of a God. Immunity to all other artifacts, invincibility against mortal illness and weapons…”

Connor’s eyebrows shot upward, “Who knows what Charles could do with that…”

“Exactly. Now, the last artifact is dangerous by itself… it’s called the Choronzon. Its handler can control the mind of his targets, but is also capable of killing said targets. If within a certain range, that is.”

“We have to get it! Charles cannot have it! Where is it?” Connor grabbed for the journal, but Haytham held it just out of reach. Damn him for treating him like a child!  
“Apparently it was last seen in… St. Lucia, an island in the Caribbean.” Haytham read, holding the journal as far away from the idiot beside him as he could. Finally Connor gave up trying to snatch the journal and huffed. 

“Then we should go there first!” 

“St. Augustine is on the way. We should stop there and obtain the Belial first. Charles will go after the closest artifact anyways, which is what we should also do. Now, the quickest way to get there would be by ship…” 

Connor rose an eyebrow, “The Aquila.” 

Haytham grimaced, “Obviously!” He loathed the thought of being stuck on that damned ship again, surrounded by Assassins, but it was the fastest way to get St. Augustine. His comfort would just have to be sacrificed for the safety of the people.

\-----

He waited, arms crossed, at the entrance of the village, watching his son absentmindedly. Of course the lad had insisted on double-making sure the people were well off without them, that they were able to sustain themselves. The boy would never get over his guilt about the attack, even if it wasn’t his fault. 

The Clan Mother caught his gaze and she wandered over to him, giving him a warm smile, “Haytham.”

“Clan Mother! I’ve been meaning to speak with you.” 

“About what?”

“The other day you mentioned… Zio hadn’t been the same since my departure. Care to enlighten me as to how she changed?”

Oiá:ner spent a moment in quiet reminiscing before answering, “She became… even more reserved, especially towards outsiders. I never saw her as happy as she’d been with you, except for moments with your son. You need to make peace with her passing, Haytham. She loved you, she loved your son, and that’s all that matters.”

He let out a frustrated sigh, tensing when she put a hand on his shoulder, “Stop focusing on what cannot be changed when there are more important things at hand that can change.”

“I can love Zio and stop Charles Lee at the same time, Clan Mother. I’ve loved her for the past 23 years and have still-“

“That’s not what I meant.” 

Haytham’s eyebrow rose and Oiá:ner removed her hand from his shoulder, “Your son, Haytham. If you love Zio, do right by her and take care of him. He will carry the burden of her death and of his people his entire life. What he needs is someone to stand by him, to support him.”

Haytham frowned. This again. Did she really think him that terrible of a father?

Although, he supposed, she would be right in that judgment, but what kind of father could he be? He missed the boy’s childhood, his entire growing up. The Assassins were the boy’s family, and they were Haytham’s enemies. As painful as it was to think about, there really was no place for him in the boy’s life. Not as a friend. Not as a father. 

“Oiá:ner.” Connor called out, disrupting Haytham’s thoughts as he made his way over to the pair, “Are you sure there is nothing else we can do?”

“We are fine, Ratonhnhake:ton. Just go stop Charles.”

Connor nodded, “We will.” 

As they turned to leave the village behind, Oiá:ner called out to Haytham one more time. He turned, staring at her quizzically. 

“If you ever need refuge or place to simply rest, you’re always welcome here, Haytham. You are a part of our family, of our tribe and will be treated as such.”

Haytham nodded thanks, forcing out a smile. He didn’t deserve such good graces from these people. Still, it was an honor, and filled his chest with some sort of pride, maybe even comfort. 

Outside the village, they re-saddled their horses, fastened their belongings and extra food the villagers had given them. Once everything was prepared, they made their way into the forest, headed for the homestead where a long naval voyage awaited them. 

Yet… Connor did not seem the same. He was quiet, less argumentative. 

“Son, what troubles you?” Might as well get the lad to talk through it now. He certainly didn’t want to travel all the way to St. Augustine with Connor brooding the entire time, as much as he might prefer silence to bickering. 

“My people do not deserve such torment.”

Haytham sighed, spurring his horse and riding up alongside the boy, “It’s not your fault, Connor.”

“I should have been there to protect them. To stop Charles Lee before they were hurt.” Had they come any later, the natives would’ve been killed. It was just like before, back when Connor was forced to needlessly kill Kanen’to;kon. All because of Lee. 

Kanen’to;kon had not deserved to die either. He was trying to defend the village, as was Connor’s own mission. Yet that damned Lee just had to turn his own childhood friend against him and resulted in the death of an innocent. By Connor’s own blade nonetheless.

He tightened his hold on the reins unintentionally, knuckles white, unaware that he was clenching his jaw until his teeth started to ache from the pressure. How many more would die needlessly before this was all over? 

“There was no way you could’ve known. You got there when you could and you saved the village. You saved your people, Connor.”

Connor’s eyebrows furrowed. He wasn’t entirely convinced. Haytham sighed as he remembered the family slaughtered by Braddock as they’d made to escape the Siege of Bergen. They were innocent, defenseless and Haytham was unable to help them. Even now, so many years later, his stomach and chest still ached at the thought. Connor must be feeling the same about the villagers, so in a way he could understand the boy’s turmoil.

Haytham continued after some moments of silence passed, “Listen, Son. You can’t save everyone from all the evil in the world, as much as you might want to. Don’t beat yourself over it.” 

“Since when did you take such an interest in how I am feeling, Father?” Connor snapped, sending a half-assed glare towards the man. Both his body and mind were exhausted. The last thing he wanted was his father pulling more of his mind games, pretending to care when he’d just deny it later. As if he needed or even wanted the man’s pity anyways!

Haytham reeled, “Oh I’m sorry for attempting to look after my son! Why, I won’t even bother trying to comfort you then, go ahead and wallow in your unfounded guilt, if you feel so inclined.”

The elder man pulled on the reins of his horse slightly, allowing Connor to reclaim the lead. Connor thought over his father’s words for a minute and finally said, “Thank you… for the effort.” 

Haytham cringed. He was getting way too soft, caring for an Assassin. Especially the one who took his comrades’ lives, tearing down everything he’d worked for…  
And yet he didn’t really care about that anymore.

\-----

“You brought that bloke again?” was the first thing Mr. Faulkner blurted out upon their arrival, pointing at Haytham, who simply glared. Yes, their last voyage on the Aquila together had been… less than pleasant. Dirty glares, snippy remarks, oh this man always got on his nerves. Even more so than Connor did, to his astonishment.

“As much as I also despise being stuck on a ship with you again, Mr. Faulkner, it’s vital we get to Florida as quickly as possible.”

“Aye, what’s he talkin’ ‘bout Captain?” Mr. Faulkner turned to Connor, arms folded. 

“A long story, Mr. Faulkner. We need to retrieve something… before Charles Lee does.” 

“That greasy-haired man that’s been causin’ such a ruckus round the colonies? The things I hear ‘bout that bloke aint pretty.” Mr. Faulkner nodded towards the ship, and the pair followed him aboard, “I don’t have the faintest idea what ya’ plannin’ captain, but we’ll support ya’ the whole way.”

Connor took his place at the wheel, “That is what I like to hear Mr. Faulkner.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooo an update 1 day early. :)

August 1778

Day 3 at sea

Skies were clear, the sea calm and waves smooth. There really could be no more perfect weather for sailing. Only 4-5 days left until they found their destination – St Augustine. For now, all Haytham could do was wait, praying that the rest of the time on the ship would continue to be pleasant. Mr. Faulkner had learned this time around simply to avoid him when not on deck, and surprisingly had ceased making as many snippy comments. 

Even Connor had shown improvement in his sailing abilities, to Haytham’s relief. He would never admit that aloud to the boy, though. His ego need not be inflated. 

Watching his son at the wheel, he couldn’t help but be reminded of his own father. The supposed pirate, from what he heard. With a great big ship probably not very much different from this one. The Jackdaw.

“You know, Connor, my father had a ship like this.”

“Really?” the boy seemed genuinely surprised. 

“Or so I’ve heard. I never saw it for myself. My Father died when I was quite young, I’m afraid.” 

“Well aren’t you the talkative one today?” Mr. Faulkner piped up from the other side of Connor. Haytham bared his teeth even though the other man couldn’t see it.

“Just trying to hold a conversation with my son. Besides, he should know about his grandfather, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Was he a Templar like you, Father?”

“…No. You’ll be pleased to hear this; he was an Assassin.”

Connor smirked and Mr. Faulkner hooted, “So you’re the odd one of the family, eh? I bet the poor bastard’s rollin’ in his grave at what you became!”

Connor interjected, “Did you two fight as we do now?” 

Haytham rose an eyebrow, “No. We were close. He trained me how to fight with a sword, to question the world. I envied him. It wasn’t until after his death that I became a Templar. A story far too complicated to be told on the deck of a ship.”

“What happen to ‘is ship?” 

“It remains a mystery. My father sailed for the last time when he moved to London in ’22. The wreckage of the ship was found in 1735 and nobody can tell me anything about the gap of time between those two events. One can only speculate…” 

“Mr. Faulker, would you take the wheel for a while?”

“Huh? Aye, of course, Captain.”

As Connor handed the wheel over to Mr. Faulkner, he nodded Haytham’s way, gesturing for him to follow. Confused, Haytham obliged. Connor led him back to the captain’s quarters, where Haytham finally asked, “What are we doing?”

“I wished to speak with you without” Connor shut the door behind them and nodded upwards in Mr. Faulkner’s direction, “his interjections. I want to know more about… your father. You said he died when you were young. Why?”

Haytham sighed and took a seat at a desk. Resting one elbow on the cherry wood, chin in hand, he began, “Murdered. Reginald hired mercenaries to steal a journal of his and he got in the way. That was the first night I ever killed a man… to save my mother.”

He’d never forget the look on her face as a sword was plunged into the man. Eyes wide, mouth hung agape. Like Haytham, her own son, was suddenly a stranger or some kind of monster. That night had marked the end of Haytham’s childhood. The end of his innocence. For all the years his mother lived after that, their relationship was never the same. Perhaps, that night so long ago, she’d actually seen what he was to become. 

Connor fidgeted, “And after that? What happened to you?”

“I was sent off with Reginald. He became my tutor, training me to become a Templar.”

Connor eyed him, clearly lost.

“I never found out his involvement with my father’s murder until years later,” Haytham was suddenly quiet, as stagnant hatred was rekindled by memories that left his jaw clenched and chest tight. 

“Father, why are you telling me this?”

Why was he? What did he hope to gain by bringing this up now? These were not the boy’s burdens to bear, only his own. 

“You’re the one who wanted to know, Lad.” He stood, and before Connor could ask anything further, he said, “I think that’s enough for now. I’ll be in my quarters.”

Connor watched the man leave and sighed to himself. For all he was learning about Haytham, he continued to remain an enigma. At least today he’d been given another small piece to the puzzle that was his father. 

Day 8 at sea

The sun had barely begun to rise when Connor was awakened by the first squawks of seagulls. A knock at the door moments later confirmed, “We’ve reached land, Captain.”   
“Thanks Mr. Faulkner, I will be up in a minute.” 

“Aye.” 

Connor stretched, rubbing his eyes. After dressing himself, he made his way to the deck where he was greeted by Mr. Faulkner and Haytham. Neither had spoken to one another during the wait for the captain, content to stand separately in silence. 

“Mornin’ Captain. St. Augustine is just a few miles up ahead. You and Haytham take the Johnboat to shore and make your way by foot, but watch out for Fort Mark. The Aquila will be waitin’ for ya when ya get back.”

Haytham had his arms crossed as he looked out at the shore; it was backed by endless trees and bushes. A corner of his mouth twitched. This trek would be far from fun.

\-----

They were both tired, bodies covered in a layer of sweat by the time they reached a road, having had to trudge through thick undergrowth from the shore up to this point. They stopped a moment to rest in the shade, watching the people and convoys both leaving and entering the town. 

These were British forces, redcoats everywhere. It was impossible to tell how many of them were also Templars. Guards stood at the entrance, armed with muskets, stopping to identify each person entering the town.

“Follow me and let me do the talking, Lad.” Haytham said, quite curtly, before setting upon the road. He hastily brushed off twigs and leaves from his coat before reclaiming his proper, calm demeanor, hands clasped behind his back. Connor followed his example, though lacking the man’s overt air of confidence. 

“Halt,” A guard shouted as the two men approached, “What’s your business?”

“We’re looking for work. Heard they were training soldiers here.” 

The guard eyed the two, “What’re your names?”

“Jim Landen and this is Miko, my nephew.” Connor fought the urge to flinch as Haytham clapped him on the shoulder and forced a smile his way. He hoped his own half-smile in return was as convincing.

Satisfied, the guards stood aside, “Alright, move along.”

Once inside, Connor muttered, “Miko? Someone you know?”

“No one that concerns you, Boy. Now,” Haytham took a look around, “Where do we begin… we’ll meet back here in 1 hour. See what you can find out from the locals. I shall do the same. Now for God’s sake, Connor, don’t cause any unneeded attention and don’t pick fights.”

“Don’t get lost, Old Man, or will I have to rescue you once more?”

Haytham shot the boy one last glare before disappearing into a throng of pedestrians.

Connor snaked his way through busy streets, briefly reminded of the first time he’d been to a town. It had been with Achilles, for supplies. He’d been so enamored with the people, the opportunities; the things he fought to protect. 

The Templars would see it all ruined. 

He had no idea where to begin. He hadn’t even the faintest idea what this artifact looked like or where it could possibly be hidden. 

Finally, he decided upon entering a nearby tavern. That’s where everyone went to gossip, right? The tavern was full of people, many of whom were drinking and talking amongst themselves. One man in the corner waved his glass around, drunkenly singing. Although trying (and failing) to sing would be more accurate. Connor spotted a boy, not much older than he himself had been when he first visited Boston, and wandered over to him, pulling out the chair across from him.

“I was wandering if you could help me,” he took a seat and folded his arms on the table.

“Depends on what for,” the boy eyed him, taking a sip of his drink.

“I am looking for… something powerful. An object out of its time, that has strange… powers. I was told it was hidden in St. Augustine many years ago. Have you heard anything like that?” It was difficult to describe an object he himself had never seen or heard of. He couldn’t even remember the proper name by which Haytham had called it.

The kid laughed, “That? It’s just a myth,” well that had been surprisingly easy. 

Connor scowled, “Whether it is or not, it is important I find out.”

“You’re serious?” the kid paused. Connor said nothing, simply waiting. The kid sighed, “I never believed in such ridiculous stories. I have a friend who’s went looking for it himself a few years back. If I remember correctly, he said it was in a spring just north of here. Called the Fountain of Youth.” 

Chair legs squeaked against wood floor as Connor stood abruptly, nodding to the boy, “Thank you.”

“Wait. There’s a reason he didn’t get it for himself, you know. Like I said, it was some years ago.”

“What stopped him?”

The boy shrugged and thought a moment, “He mentioned a group of men attacking him in the woods, threatening his life should he return. I always assumed it was a band of thieves. I don’t know if they’re still around, but I’d be careful if I were you.”

A band of thieves, huh? Nothing he couldn’t handle, especially with his father at his side.

\----

What had been a sweltering afternoon slowly mutated into a humid evening, the temperature dropping only a few degrees. Connor waited in the shade of a store, idly observing the common-folk. Shouting and laughter hit his ears and he tensed, relaxing only when he realized it was just children running around in the street playing a game of tag. 

“Any trouble?” Haytham emerged from a group of civilians, taking his place beside Connor.

“The artifact is in a spring. Fountain of Youth,” Connor said, still watching the kids.

One of Haytham’s eyebrows rose, “Really now? Well, at least that’s a start. I had no luck myself.” 

Connor crossed his arms over his chest, turned and eyed his father, “What is the Fountain of Youth, Father?”

“Hmm? It’s a story about a supposed spring that restores youth and extends the life of anyone who drinks from it or bathes in it,” Haytham scoffed.

“That… is ridiculous.”

“As ridiculous as a glowing sphere that allows people to talk to ‘gods’ and have ‘visions’? A glowing sphere that can kill people all by itself?” 

Connor frowned, “So what is the plan?”

Haytham looked out on the people roaming the streets, idly scanning for Templars, “Fortunately I’m familiar with what you’re talking about. The spring you mentioned isn’t actually in town. For that, we’re lucky; we can go investigate without worrying about guards. We just have to get there before the Templars do.” 

“I was told a group of people attacked someone in the forest for searching the spring.” 

Haytham waved it off, “Probably simple thieves. Not a problem.”

That’s what Connor had thought at first too. Yet if what Haytham had said about the fountain was a story the locals truly believed… they could be facing more problems than just the Templars if the spring was so revered.


	9. Chapter 9

As the sun slipped under the tree line, the pair bought a couple of oil lanterns for light before making their way out of the town, avoiding the new batch of guards on shift. After a couple hours of complaining and trekking through thick undergrowth, they came across a rather peculiar sight. 

Heaps of rubble, ruins of numerous wooden huts now covered in vines. Here and there a broken tool, clearings where campfires once cooked food. 

“This is… a native village,” Connor furrowed his brows, picking at what used to be a hut. There were no people around and he couldn’t help but imagine families killed, shot by the attacking redcoats, burned alive in their own homes… 

His throat went dry. A familiar voice from years ago echoed through his mind, shouting, and he could swear he smelt smoke… 

“Indeed… though by the looks of it, was abandoned a long time ago,” Haytham came to stand by the boy, who was tense and trembling.

“Destroyed a long time ago,” Connor spat.

Haytham put a hand on the boy’s shoulder, “If it were attacked, the huts would’ve been burned. There’d be nothing left but ash and skeletons. Do you see either of these things?”

It was a weak argument, he had to admit, but he didn’t want Connor to believe otherwise. The lad had enough stress to deal with and the way he was shuddering, as if he were about to break, did not bode well. It almost made Haytham uneasy himself. 

Connor peered around the site and finally shrugged. After a moment he relaxed, just a little, turning back to glance at his father, “I guess you are right.”

Haytham smiled and patted his shoulder before turning, “Let’s go, shall we? The spring should be nearby.” 

It didn’t take long after that to find the spring. They investigated the area carefully, using eagle vision to look for the artifact (of which Connor found out, again, was called Belial) through the shadows but there was nothing. Just a regular old spring, water clear and calm, looking no different from any other body of water. 

“Father, how about you drink from the spring and see if you get younger.” 

Haytham glowered at him, clearly unamused, “I’m not risking my life for some stupid myth, Boy. Who knows what that water actually does. Unless you, perhaps, would like to take a drink first and test it out?” 

“No, I am-“

Haytham suddenly stilled and threw an arm out, stopping Connor in his tracks. The boy gave him a quizzical sideways look, to which Haytham responded, “We’re being watched.”

Connor followed the man’s line of sight with eagle vision and sure enough, in the darkness just up ahead stood a hooded man. Said man was clad in all black and kept still, glare fixed on them. Dread settled in the pit of their stomachs and they tensed in sudden uneasiness. Haytham immediately put a hand to the hilt of his sword. The man still made no move, simply continued to watch them. 

As Connor opened his mouth to speak, another hooded man jumped out from behind a tree, small sword in hand. Connor quickly blocked him with the hidden blade, and kicked him in the gut, forcing him backwards. 

Two more rushed from Haytham’s side, but he also managed to block them in time with his sword. The oil lanterns were dropped in their haste and they were forced to rely mostly on eagle vision. Metal clashed against metal as the hooded men took turns attacking, but none managed to reach the pair before them, once again back to back in a fight. Yet the attackers were just as good in defense, jumping backwards in time to avoid the tips of swords and hidden blades.

They were obviously not common thieves after all. Thieves weren’t this skilled in combat. 

The first hooded man walked closer to them and with a shout, the others ceased their attacks. Yet they kept their weapons drawn, trained on Haytham and Connor. The man they supposed was the group leader was the first to speak, “Why are you here?"

Haytham lifted his chin slightly, "Tourists. To whom am I speaking?"

The man bared his teeth, "Mere tourists don't fight like that. Identify yourself, and I may do the same."

Haytham grunted, "Very well. We've traveled here from New York, searching for something rather special. Is that an English accent I hear? Who do you work for?"

The man removed his hood. Dark hair was streaked with gray, tan face adorned with wrinkles. He was indeed, English, mixed with Spanish it appeared; however, it didn’t show in his voice. 

"We work for nobody. It is our duty to preserve the fountain of youth."

Connor eyed the man. He’d suspected as much, from how the people valued the spring. But it was just a spring, right? Why would they be so determined to protect it for so many years? Perhaps… perhaps the artifact was here after all and they knew it.

Haytham evidently came to the same conclusion and re-sheathed his sword, nodding for Connor to do the same, "And it is our duty to protect the people."

The other hooded men shared nervous glances, unsure of what to do. They kept their blades trained on the two. The leader still had not drawn any weapon, hands relaxed at his sides. 

"You say you come from New York? Are the rumors true about the tyrannical king enslaving and killing people?"

So he knew about Charles. This could work to their advantage.

"That is precisely why we are here. Charles searches for artifacts, objects with supernatural powers that he will stop at nothing to retrieve and use for his own gain. We're simply collecting them before he can."

"You seek the object hidden in the spring. How can I be sure you won't use them for ill yourselves?"

This time Connor spoke, "We only wish to stop Charles. We have lost too much, too many innocents have died at his hand. We only want to save. If you don't give it up to us peacefully, Charles will arrive and kill your people and take it anyways. But then it would be in bad hands."

The man's gaze flickered between the two. Haytham nodded his concurrence to Connor's explanation, adding "As skilled as your group may be, Charles has an army, as well as other artifacts that humans cannot fight against alone. This is why we need the artifact in the spring."

The man before them thought for a moment and ordered the others to lower their weapons, "Very well."

One of the other hooded men began to argue, but the first one, the supposed leader, held up a hand, "This is for the best. My men will retrieve the object for you. All I ask is that once the job is done, you hide it somewhere nobody will ever find it. This place has become sort of a legend anyways; protecting it has become troublesome." 

The other three men wandered off, into the darkness, leaving the pair alone with the leader. He continued to scrutinize the strangers before him, but did not speak again.

"We could use your help. Come with us," Connor started, and Haytham grit his teeth. He didn’t trust this group. They’d attacked them, had wanted to do so even after their leader ordered otherwise. Why was the boy openly inviting them to follow?

"When Charles comes to collect the artifact, we will stall them, plant false information, lead them wrongly. This is how we will aid you; buy you plenty time to distance yourselves. We will remain here and protect our own peoples, the town, the spring. This is our home."

Home… 

Connor nodded, swayed by another wave of nostalgia as he was reminded of his own village. So desperately he had wanted to remain, to protect them, but no. He had to protect everyone, not just them. 

\-----

Soon enough, the Aquila is sailing again, this time headed for St. Lucia. The sea is choppy tonight and gray clouds hover ominously in the distance. A crescent moon peeks through, its reflection shimmering on the water. Mr. Faulkner steers, giving the occasional order to the crew to adjust the sails. Only Mr. Faulkner knows of the artifact and the true reason for the voyage, the rest of the crew simply along for the promise of pay. 

Haytham and Connor huddle together in the Captains’ quarters around the desk, studying the Belial artifact. Haytham holds it up in the light of a lantern with a silken handkerchief, careful not to let it come into skin contact as he turns it over and over again.

The artifact is flat and round, maybe an inch bigger across than a quarter. Carved in its center is a triskelion. On the back are carvings akin to those on the Apple of Eden.   
“What does it do?” Connor asked, eyeing the foreign object with piqued interest.

“According to Holden’s journal… it forces anyone in contact to tell the absolute truth… and also heightens the emotions.” He set it on the desk, wrapping it carefully with the handkerchief as if it were the most fragile thing in the world.

“That is all?” the boy sounded quite disappointed.

Haytham turned to him, “Don’t be naïve, Connor. Heightened emotions leads to trouble. Especially so when certain people…” he looked Connor up and down, “are already impulsive and overly emotional. Plus who knows what else might do that we’re yet unaware of.” 

Connor scowled, “Impulsive? Overly emotional?”

“Lad, you made it your life’s mission to exact vengeance upon a man who didn’t even commit the crime you’re killing him for.”

“That same man now seeks to kill and rule over an entire nation.”

The Belial jumped slightly as Haytham slammed a fist on the table, “Yes, but even before that! You act on sheer impulse, never stopping to think about your actions.”

“Who are you to lecture me on controlling emotion? All you do is hide behind a mask of authority, and even when you are stripped of your power, you think yourself better than anyone else.”

Haytham scoffed, “Well it’s true; I am better. I don’t suger-coat things and feign affection, I am a man of honesty.”

“I think you should leave, Father,” best to make him leave now before he did something he’d regret. It’d only prove the man’s point anyways.

Haytham smirked and stood abruptly, heading for the door, “What a fantastic idea, I shall see you tomorrow on deck, Connor.”

Connor glared at the man’s back until the door shut behind him and Connor sighed heavily. His father could think himself honest, but whether or not he actually was… that was questionable. Perhaps he was a little more so than he’d been before due to a trust they were forging, as slow-developing as it might be, but it was not pure honesty. At least it was something. At least Connor was starting to really know his father. He cared for the man, as stubborn and obnoxious as he might be, all he wanted was to know whether the feelings were mutual.

Connor’s gaze flittered to the Belial, wrapped in the silken handkerchief on the table. The artifact that intensified emotions and forced people to tell the truth…

Connor could not stop the smirk from spreading across his face. Now there was an idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anybody who might be curious - yes the spring and village are ACTUAL places in St Augustine (nowadays they're tourist attractions, but in 1778 they weren't part of St Augustine, at least as far as I know and I've been doing my share of research) and YES there is a 'supposed' secret society in St Augustine that 'protects' the fountain though it's difficult to find out ANYTHING about them online.
> 
> If I'm wrong and anyone wants to correct me on any of this, please do so.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ugh

It was innocent. The intentions behind it were good.

These two excuses Connor continued to repeat to himself as nerves arose. The Belial was safely tucked in a coat pocket as he made his way to his father’s quarters. The sun was only beginning to rise, but Haytham was always up this early and Connor wanted this over with before he took the wheel of the ship.

Haytham was silently reading a book when his door was thrown open without warning. His head snapped up suddenly, as he automatically shut his book, throwing it aside and standing. Brows furrowed, his voice nearly a shout, "What the bloody hell is wrong with you?"

Connor kicked the door shut behind himself and retorted, "We need to talk, Father."

Haytham scowled, "Can’t we, as two respectable grown men, have a normal conversation without barging into each other’s private quarters?"

"I recall you coming into my tent back at the village and kicking me awake."

Haytham scoffed and crossed his arms, "Important information was obtained - time was of the essence. You losing sleep is worth the fate the world. Now, what is it you wish to 'talk' about? What could possibly be important enough to cause you to abandon your place at the wheel and disturb me?"

"I want the truth."

Haytham squinted, "The truth? Of what?"

Connor snaked a hand into his pocket indiscriminately, fingers rubbing lightly along the rim of the Belial.

"I want to know your... intentions. I want to know what I am to you." Connors voice was steadily rising, "I want to know why you go out of your way to push me away. To deny me any meaning to you and your life other than 'temporary ally'. Why, Father, do you always treat me like I am nothing to you?"

Haytham sighed, "Lad. I have told you, time and time again. You are an Assassin and I-"

In one swift movement, Connor wrapped fingers around the artifact in his pocket, keeping it in hand as he reached to shove his father. At the last moment, Haytham knocked the boy's arm away, but was punched in the gut. A loud grunt escaped him and Connor claimed the advantage, seizing the opportunity to pin his father against the wall, hands firmly holding the man's wrists.

"This has nothing to do with the Templars and Assassins. My question is about you and me, Father and son. I ask again... why do you treat me like I am nothing?"

Haytham, eyebrows furrowed, hissed, "You are ignorant and oblivious. The Templar and Assassins has everything to do with it. You chase impossible dreams. I take action and do what is right, what actually works."

"You are avoiding my question. Union is possible. Look at us now, Assassin and Templar, working together to defeat a common enemy, for the good of the people, despite our differences in beliefs." Connor vaguely registered his form trembling, veins beginning to boil in a steadily-growing anger, "You look me in the eye and tell me why you hate me, Father."

His voice had cracked mid-sentence as Haytham met his eyes. So this was the power of the Belial. He could usually control his temper, but now his anger and irritation all felt irrepressible.

Almost at a whisper, Haytham found the words tumbling out of his mouth before he even had time to think about them, "I do not hate you, Connor. My mask of indifference and seeming coldness is a way of protection. We cannot be allies, or anything more, Connor, not because I do not crave it, but because..."

Connor was stunned, "b...because...why?"

Haytham sighed, and for the first time, Connor actually saw genuine fear in the man's eyes, the dilated pupils, "I do not want to grow attached to someone only to lose them... again."

The words sent a shudder down Connor's spine. The man had actually cared more than he'd thought... the whole time he was tearing himself apart, acting the victim, but Haytham was not heartless like he let on, he was simply protecting himself. Why? Who knows what happened in the past to make him that way... Connor's chest constricted.

His father cared about him. The thought made him absolutely giddy.

Connor was suddenly very aware of just how close they actually were. Their bodies from the waist down were pressed together. Their faces were inches apart. In the bliss of the moment, he followed an unfamiliar instinct, leaning even closer. He was slow in his movements, unsure, lacking any past experience to draw from.

It had been years since Haytham last kissed or shown affection to anyone. The light brush of Connor's lips, though shocking and unexpected, was enough to send his body into an excited anticipation. This was his son, what the hell was the boy doing? He tried to fight it, fight his body’s reaction, but all his willpower was lost to the Belial. He pressed his lips entirely against Connor's, easing him into a full kiss.

Haytham pulled one arm free of Connor's grip and ran fingers through the boy’s hair. Slipping his tongue into the other's mouth, he pressed Connor closer to himself.

Connor was carefully memorizing the kiss, the movements, the sensations. His pulse was racing, his body heating up. He wanted more, so much more, even if he didn’t know exactly what it was he wanted. He let go of Haytham's other arm to embrace him, and the forgotten artifact fell to the floor with a loud metallic thud. Both men jumped at the sudden noise, their senses and emotions slowly coming back under control.

They were still pressed against one another. As the heat of the moment faded, it was replaced by a growing fury within Haytham, like pressure building in a volcano just before eruption. He cleared his throat loudly and Connor quickly jumped backward, away from his father.

"You used the bloody artifact against me?"

"Well, I... you..."

Haytham stepped forward and promptly punched his son. Connor stumbled backwards, hands flying to his face, pressing against his nose. From it, blood was pouring down his mouth, his chin.

Haytham picked up the Belial and slid it into a coat pocket, "You are an insolent, selfish, despicable prick. You know that, Connor?"

He swung his left arm and as hands flew to block it, he switched to use the right, landing his fist against Connor's jaw. While the boy was still dazed, he kicked the lad’s legs out from under him, sending him to his knees.

"Look at me Connor."

Connor glared up at the man, the whole lower half of his face drenched in blood. It was a rather pathetic sight. Had this been any other person, Haytham would be proud to rip the dignity and honor from an Assassin, especially one that caused so much damage to his order.

"You deserve far worse, perhaps death, for what you've done. If you were anyone else, I'd kill you now. Listen, Connor. Until we get to St. Lucia, I don’t want you in my presence nor will you speak to me. As soon as we arrive, we are parting ways."

Connor's eyes widened, "Fa-"

"Let me finish. I will continue on and retrieve the artifacts and essentially stop Charles. You on the other hand, are to go back to your village as you were so adamant about, and protect them. Stay with them. Just stay far away from me."

"Fine," Connor got to his feet, turning and storming out of the room without so much as a glance at his father.

He made his way up to the deck, where he silently took the wheel from Mr. Faulkner, who once seeing the flaring nostrils, furrowed brows and bloody nose, shouted, "What in the bloody hell happen to ya?"

"It is nothing."

"Was it Haytham? I knew the bastard was nothin' but bad news."

Connor shot him with a glare, "You will say nothing of it."

Mr. Faulkner huffed, but agreed. Connor was not a man to be tried with, especially since he was the captain.

Knuckles were white around the spokes of the wheel. How could a morning start off so good and turn so ugly that quickly? All he wanted was honesty! Why did Haytham have to be so damn stubborn? So yeah, maybe he _shouldn’t_ have used an artifact to force it out of him. Maybe he could've gotten it another way and maybe he'd gone a little too far by kissing the man. Yet hell, he was still just as shocked as Haytham had been. He hadn’t even known he was attracted to men, let alone his _father_ , but hell. The man had kissed him back! What was the point in him turning around and denying it any longer?

Whatever. Connor was fed up with the man's bullshit and mind tricks. If he wanted them to part ways, so be it. There was no use in fighting it.

\------

For a while Haytham didn’t move, just stood there staring at the door. Why did the boy have to go and do that? The partnership they had had been perfect, comfortable. Keeping  
the boy at a distance would spare himself the pain once he lost him, but now that was ruined.

The taste of the boy still lingered on his lips and he ran a finger longingly along them. Damn him. Forcing him to reveal his feelings... then daring to kiss him. As if they could ever be something more! It just couldn't be. Now he had to leave, lest he give into temptation and be betrayed again.  
A fist met the wall, accompanied with a frustrated snarl.

He took a few moments to just breathe, calming his nerves before retaking a seat at the desk, grabbing the forgotten book. This would distract him, surely.

After rereading the same paragraph nearly 20 times, he sighed and once again tossed the book aside. His mind kept returning to Connor, to the way his mouth tasted, the way the boy's body felt pressed up against him. His pants were growing much too tight just thinking about it.

He could just forget the threats. It would be so easy to find Connor now at the wheel, pull him back to his quarters and just throw him on the bed. The boy wouldn't fight it at all. He could imagine getting atop the boy, nipping lips, removing clothes. The boy's lust-glazed eyes and shaky moans as he was fucked for, as far as Haytham knew, the first time.  
It could happen. Connor wouldn’t stop it, he could just do it. That's what made this situation all the more difficult. His stupid son just didn’t get it. They couldn’t be.

Oh but it was so tempting...

A hand wandered downwards and Haytham cussed under his breath. No. He didn’t need the boy, all he needed was himself.

He licked his palm, leaned back and closed his eyes as he began stroking himself. He tried to imagine Zio, of similar acts they’d shared, but her image made his chest hurt. Perhaps one of the many whores he’d taken up over the years? Anything except his damnable son!

His entire body was warm and his legs were trembling, but nothing he focused on was enough. Despite his wishes, his imagination kept roaming back to Connor; storming into his room to catch him in the act, but instead of turning and leaving, walking up to the man and removing his hand. Kneeling down and taking him into a warm, wet mouth. A loud groan escaped Haytham as he pictured coming into the boy's mouth.

His entire body was shaking, heat pooling in his groin. Nearly there.

Clearly he could see the boy underneath him as he trailed kisses along a tan neck. Lust-glazed eyes watching him as he positioned himself, wrapping the boy’s legs around his waist and sliding himself deep within tight warmth. Connor arching against him, stubbornly trying to suppress a loud moan.

He let out a low, unsteady, "Connor..."

In his mind, the boy responded, "Father... please..."

With a breathless gasp and eyes shut, he finally came, spewing white seed all over the floor.

As he slowly came down from his high, the ecstasy was replaced by an intense loneliness, mixed with disgust. He just masturbated to the thought of fucking his own son! It was obvious now; he was already much too attached…

To the point of lust evidently.

\-------

***3 days later***

Since the argument, Haytham spent his time reading. From old novels to memorizing every word in Holden’s journal. Surprisingly, Connor had made no attempts to confront him or plead that they continue working together. It was just as well.

Now Haytham stood on the opposite side of the deck, arms crossed as he watched the ocean pass by them in silence.

"Aye," but of course Mr. Faulkner had to interrupt.

Haytham tensed but did not even bother to look at the man, "I don’t wish to talk. I don’t care that Connor sent you."

"The captain didn’t send me."

"Then why have you come over here, to pester me?"

"Listen, bloke. I don't know what happen between you and the captain, but I can’t help but notice how you both been avoidin’ one another. I’m quite worried. The captain’s distracted, not focused like he should be. It’s like he don’t even care."

Haytham had not missed that. The boy's sailing had grown exponentially worse since the argument, but that did nothing more than irritate him.  
"He better get his act together or else give command to someone else."

Mr. Faulkner seethed, "What the bloody hell happened between the two of you?"

Haytham glared at the man. It was none of his damn business and he wouldn't be justified with an answer. Although tempted to tell the man he was first mate under a damn knob jockey, just to watch Connor’s crew turn against him. It’d serve him right! Nonetheless, he fought the urge and kept his mouth shut because after all, he couldn’t reveal Connor’s secret without revealing his own.

Mr. Faulkner just glared back and leaned over the railing beside Haytham, "Don't you care at all about the captain?"

Oh this was getting tiresome, first Oiá:ner, now Mr. Faulkner. He still refused to answer, jaw clenched.

Mr. Faulkner continued, "He's your son. Surely some petty argument couldn't be terrible enough to make you hate the lad this much."

A petty argument? If only he knew the truth behind it.

"He’s impulsive and ignorant. I will not deal with that kind of selfish behavior no matter who it is. The fact that he is my son doesn’t require me to care for him."

Mr. Faulkner laughed sarcastically, "but you do."

Haytham rounded on him, "Don’t you dare act like you know what I do or don’t feel."

Mr. Faulkner didn’t back away from the seething glare, only stood up to it, "if you didn't care about the lad, you wouldn't be affected this much by some stupid argument to the point of completely avoiding him. The issue is yer too stubborn to admit it!"

Haytham faltered and averted his gaze, turning back to the ocean.

Mr. Faulkner smirked, "So that's it... he got through your wall and you’re too proud to admit you care about him. That’s how scared you are of sentiment? Of growing attached?"  
"If he can't accept being allies and nothing more, I will work alone."

"God-damn it, he is your son! As much as I hate you, it’s obvious how much the lad cares about you, trusts you. I’m told he went out into a thunderstorm just to find yer ass so you wouldn't die of illness or starvation. Despite you bein’ the Templar grand master."

Haytham's eye twitched. Sometimes he wished that had never happened. That he'd walked faster, that he just let himself die out there, but no. His damn son just had to save him.  
Mr. Faulkner eyed him, not missing the subtle drooping of the shoulders, or the way his gaze drifted downward, frowning. He was getting to him, then.

“Look. Fighting yourself is always an impossible battle. Do ya really think the way to avoid getting hurt is by pushing him away? Who are you hurting more?”

The internal conflict only grew. Mr. Faulkner had a point. So had Oiá:ner. Connor was not to blame for everything Haytham had lost and yet he was taking his frustrations out on the boy. He was the only one doing the hurting, keeping himself from having something that may prove to be worthwhile.

He turned, just enough to be able to see Connor at the wheel and watched him wordlessly.

Sealing his decision with a whispered, “Fine. I will gi-“

The sentence was never finished, for a loud CRASH and violent rocking of the ship sent everyone tumbling. Haytham grabbed the rail of the ship and pulled himself back to his feet, turning to the source of the noise, overwhelmed with the sharp scent of gunpowder and smoke.

Haytham’s heart sank as he recognized the Templar flag adorning three ships in the horizon, each alone larger than the Aquila. Two frigates and a Man O’ War.

Now he may never get the chance to act on his decision to finally give the lad a chance.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a happy chapter
> 
> :)

"Battlestations! Man the cannons!" Connor shouted, the crew running around frantically.

“Our Man O’ Wars and frigates are armed with the most advanced modern weaponry. This ship can't survive the attacks from that fleet..." Haytham stated quite bluntly, swallowing a lump in his throat.

Mr. Faulkner eyed him before rushing off for the captain.

"Captain!"

"FIRE CANNONS! What is it, Mr. Faulkner?”

"I was just with your father. We have to flee Captain! The Aquila can't-"

Connor cut him off, "We can do this. We have to get to St Lucia! It’s right there." Up ahead, barely visible, perhaps a mile or so away, was land. St. Lucia.

On the other side of the Aquila, Haytham sighed in frustration. Had the Templars been guarding the place? Had this been a planned ambush, or simple turn of fate that the fleet should run into them here?

The ship trembled again as cannonballs exploded against the hull. There was no time for recovery, more were headed their way.

"BRACE!"

Chain shots were shot in defense, tearing apart the sail of the frigate and the Aquila barely avoided being rammed by the other.

The next few moments were a blur, a mix of cannon fire and swivels.

Soon enough the Aquila was wrecked and they’d only managed to sink a single frigate. It was quickly becoming clear; odds of victory were pretty much nonexistent, but as Connor made the decision to flee, it was too late. The Man o’ War cut them off, and Connor steered the Aquila after it, determined to ram from the backside. The plan quickly met its failure, for in the Man o’ War’s wake it left... a blazing oil fire?

There was no time to steer away and avoid it. The Aquila sailed straight through it. Flames engulfed the sides of the Aquila, thick smoke obscuring their vision from every angle, embers sparking fires to the sail.

Through the smoke... Templars appeared, piercing the chests and stomachs of innocent crew members who fell with pained cries, shock etched into lifeless faces. Those on the farther side had enough time to draw their own weapons and fight back.

"Mr. Faulkner, help the others evacuate!" Connor shouted as he withdrew his sword and hidden blade. Quickly he took down two Templar officers that attacked from above.

"Aye!"

Mr. Faulkner left his side just as the Captain of the other ship boarded the Aquila, angry gaze fixed on Connor. A gas mask hid the lower half of his face. For a moment they stood there, two captains glaring daggers at one another before the Templar urged him to come forth, to attack first.

Connor bared his teeth and thrust his sword, but was blocked. He barely dodged the Templar's blade from slicing his throat open. After several back and forth attacks and blocks, Connor began to cough. The smoke was thickening. His head was pounding; he couldn't focus on the fight. The Templar Captain was well aware of his opponent's disadvantage and began to strike more vigorously, forcing Connor to the edge of the ship.

With the last of his strength, Connor thrust the hidden blade, aiming for the Captain's chest, but the man caught his wrist. Connor found himself violently jerked forward, a hand fisting his hair, smashing his head against the railing before he was shoved backwards, losing his footing as he stumbled and fell overboard.

\----

They wouldn't win this fight. There was no way.

Haytham regained his footing and made haste to the lower deck. Rushing to his quarters, he grabbed his bag with the journal and the Belial within. That's when the smell of the oil fire hit him. The Aquila shook and groaned and smoke filled the halls as Haytham returned to the upper deck.

The crew had managed to sink one of the Templar frigates, but even with that...

The Man o’ War ahead of them had left a trail of oil fire in its wake, of which the Aquila was sailing right through. Everyone was in a panic, the air was thick with black smoke and Haytham could barely breathe or see anything. Connor, the crew, none of them could’ve expected this. The oil fire was still new in naval warfare, and the Templars reserved it for desperate missions.

Eyes grew wide as the realization dawned on the ex-grandmaster.

Running into that fleet was no accident. They were sent, no doubt, by Charles Lee to eliminate the threat; to kill Connor and his crew and stop them from obtaining the next artifact – the Choronzon. Which meant Charles had known exactly where they were and what they were planning.

In his shock, he didn’t even see the frigate rushing towards them until they were rammed, sending everyone to the ground once more. Shouting followed as Templars boarded the ship; swords clashed, here and there a pistol fired. Only one thought ran through Haytham's mind.

Connor wasn’t shouting orders anymore.

Where was he? What the hell was he doing?

A Templar rushed out of the smoke towards Haytham, but was met with the blade of a sword instead as it pierced his chest.

Haytham coughed and was forced to grab the mast as the ship began to roll, tilting enough for small objects to plummet into the water. He could barely see; the smoke obscured everything from his sight. All around him there were shouts, cries, the clashing of swords.

Connor had not been in his quarters, hadn’t been below deck at all. Haytham treaded carefully, sword drawn in defense as he grabbed the rail with his free hand and made his way towards the wheel.

Mr. Faulkner, covered in blood, was fighting the Templar Captain, determinedly parrying several attacks. Yet it was not enough, the Captain too skilled. Haytham plunged his sword into the man's chest with a grunt before he’d even seen him coming.

"Get the bloody hell off the ship! She’s sinkin!"

"Where's my son?"

"I don’t know! I haven’t seen the lad since we were rammed! You need to take that artifact and get out of here!"

"Not without my son, damn-it!"

Ignoring several more protests, he continued past Mr. Faulkner, grabbed the railing of the stairs. He pulled himself up, grabbed the wheel. Using it for support, he looked out at the other ship, at the water. There was no sign of Connor anywhere. The first waves of panic began to set in, and he called out the boy's name over and over.

A Templar came at him, shouting, but was silenced as Haytham forced a hidden blade through the man's face. His body jerked and spasmed, and Haytham pushed him away, letting him plummet into the water.

A loud groan pierced the air as the ship tilted further, and Haytham found himself standing on the railing, watching as the water edged closer and closer. It was tinted red with the blood of dozens of innocent people...

Mr. Faulkner, along with the remainder of Connor’s crew, was on the last of the johnboats. As they reached shore, they rushed into the cover of the trees. Connor however, wasn’t among them.

The remaining Templars retreated, heading back onto their own ship. A couple came up from below deck, shaking their heads when asked if they’d retrieved the ‘object’. Haytham watched in silent anger as these unfamiliar faces disappeared, completely unaware to the amount of innocent blood now stained their hands; for no better reason than they’d wanted some tiny chunk of precursor metal that did little more than force honesty and enhance emotion.

How many times had he killed innocents himself for similar reasons? But that was before. Before he’d begun to care again. Before he’d found a better purpose to fight than to find some artifacts simply for more power, more control.

God, he was starting to sound like Connor.

Connor…

He couldn’t even imagine the pain that boy was going through emotionally.

One last time, Haytham called out, "Connor! Where are you, Lad?"

But the only answer he received was the lapping of water against the deck of the ship.

Overhead, a tattered sail was blazing, until the flames reached the mast and that too caught aflame. Another groan and the ship trembled, the top of the mast splitting apart. A chunk of it fell, a fireball roaring through the smoke, right at Haytham. At the last moment, he jumped.

Water filled his lungs and he struggled to grab hold of something. Anything that could pull him upwards. He felt something solid underneath him and kicked off of it, choking and sputtering as he took sharp gasps of air, though it helped little. Water was simply replaced by thick smoke.

He tried to collect his bearings, recall which direction he was facing. Then he swam, sloppily at first, but gained speed. He was forced to push away several bodies checking each face to make sure it wasn’t his son...

Finally he met land, fingers curling into the sand. At first it slipped through his fingers, but he managed to scramble onto the beach, where he collapsed.  
After catching his breath, he flipped himself over and stared out into the harbor.

Only a small chunk of the Aquila remained above water. Planks and cargo, some still aflame, were floating in the bay, though its water was currently more blood than actual water. The Templar ship was anchoring not far off.

Haytham struggled to his feet, determined to find Connor.

Dammit where was he? Where was that stupid, reckless son of his? How far did he get?

Haytham's foot got caught in wet sand and he nearly fell. Behind him, there was silence. A heavy silence, not much different than a field of the dead left after war. Silence broken only by the far-off conversing of Templars as they planned their next moves.

Planks, destroyed cargo washed up beside Haytham. Among the wreck - fabric. Torn, bloody shirts. Images of Connor, motionless, covered in blood, floating face down in the water imprinted themselves in Haytham's mind. A choked sob tore from his throat and he lost his footing again.

No. No, Connor was fine, he had to be.

Haytham ran, as quickly as shaking, exhausted legs could carry him. He was drenched from head to toe, and absentmindedly he pulled Holden's journal from his bag. The thing was soggy, pages shredding under his touch, the ink ran, black water dripping to the sand. It was useless. All the years of investigation, knowledge… his last reminder of Holden; all gone in an instant.

Frustrated, he tossed it behind him. Water lapsed over it as it slowly sank, pulled away with the retreating waves. Haytham, refusing to look back, continued to trudge through mud and sand, heading into the dark cover of the trees. The journal didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except for finding Connor. The boy would not die, he would not allow it.

Time had slowed to a grinding crawl as he ran straight ahead. His eyes scanned the forest, searching for footprints, any sign of life. It was getting dark too quickly, soon he wouldn't be able to see anything. He had nothing but coins and the Belial in his bag. Nothing to make camp with. Nothing to fight off the dropping temperatures. That didn’t matter. All that ran through his mind was Connor.

He was shaking, and only after his foot snagged on a root and he fell face-first into the dirt did he realize he'd been crying.

Crying. Haytham, the Templar Grand Master, was crying for the first time in 20-some-odd years and it didn’t matter. Where he used to see crying as weakness, now he just didn’t care. He was soaked and hungry; without supplies or shelter, yet none of it affected him. For the moment, his pride, even his life couldn't matter less.

Connor... Connor was gone. He had to face it. Connor would've been the first one to take a stand against the Templars. He would've stayed, fighting, stalling the advance of the Templars so the crew could escape and yet he hadn't been there, only Mr. Faulkner was there, and he himself hadn't known where Connor was.

Connor was dead. His body, probably washed ashore by now, eyes empty and lifeless. Damn-it, he and Mr. Faulkner should’ve been there at his side! No, instead they had to have their stupid, immature spat and Connor had been alone and now he was dead.

The worst part was that the last memory he had of his father was being beaten for simply showing his affections and then promptly avoided for days. For no better reason than his father was afraid of betrayal.

Haytham ran hands through long, tangled hair and tugged, teeth biting lips hard enough to draw blood. His eyes burned, and still tears ran.

He'd been given a last chance to unite with his son. The boy, so full of hope and determination, the boy that was everything Haytham had wanted to be and never could be. The boy that had stuck by his side even with all his stubbornness and selfishness... the boy who had given him hope again, a reason to fight…

The boy who did all this... and only asked for honesty in return.

He fucked up.

He ruined the second chance he'd been given.

He failed. He failed everyone, everything, he failed his father, failed Jenny and Holden, failed the Templars, failed Zio... and now he'd failed Connor. It was too late to change anything. Too late to apologize and actually tell the boy how he'd felt, how much the boy meant to him.

His entire body ached, his throat hoarse as he choked on sobs. Everything came pouring out in those tears, tears that didn’t cease until his eyes were too dry to cry anymore. Even then, the pain was there and it was overwhelming.

He forced himself to stand, legs still shaky. Vision blurry, he slowly rose his hands to look at them. The hidden blade... it would be so easy. So easy to slice his own throat and be done with it all. He was so tired... and it was such an appealing option, and the blade was cold against the flesh of his throat. One quick slice...

But what would become of Lee? With no one to stop him, what would happen to the world?

Haytham lowered his arm and his face set back into a familiar mask of indifference, but on the inside, his blood was boiling, he could feel nothing but bitter anger.

He could not allow Lee to succeed. That's not what Connor would want.

Charles Lee. Reginald Birch. Haytham would not die until these two met justice, until he'd exacted his revenge for these two taking away every person he'd ever loved.

That was the only reason he continued onward, no longer trembling or tripping.

\----

The odds of Connor's survival, being knocked unconscious before thrown into the water, were slim. The Templar Captain had not bothered to double check before moving on to fight the Aquila's first mate.

Connor woke nauseous, dizzy, and confused, the scent of gunpowder hitting his nostrils. He pressed a hand against his aching head before daring to take a look around.

He was laying on a small piece of wood, broken off the hull. Only the end of the Aquila stuck out of the water, small fires still eating away at it. Bodies. He was surrounded by lifeless bodies. The bodies of his crew, and even a few Templars.

No. No, this couldn't be. This was wrong. Innocent people shouldn't have to die!

He pushed himself into the water, swimming to shore. As he crawled, his foot snagged on... what was it? He reached through the slick mud and pulled out something sickeningly familiar. Even though the thing was ruined, he recognized the spine of Holden's journal. Why was this here? He flipped through, but it was illegible. The pages were soggy, torn and the words smeared, ink dripping. Useless. He let it fall back into the sand.

If this was here... then his father must've been here too, right? Or had it washed ashore by itself, his Father still trapped underneath the wreckage? The image was clear; Haytham, leg caught under a fallen board, his face lifeless, eyes empty. He'd gone below deck to take the Belial before the Templars could find it and was now trapped there forever.

Connor's chest constricted. No, that couldn't be. If Holden's journal was here, that means Haytham had gotten out and had run into the trees. But they were here now, in St. Lucia, and Haytham had wanted to separate. Was he glad to be rid of Connor, or was he wondering if the boy had lived, as he wondered now if his father lived? It didn't matter if the old man wanted him gone, there was nowhere for him to go now but to follow, hopefully find him.

If he was alive, that is. There was a good chance he wasn't.

Not far away, the Templar ships had anchored and one of the Templars spotted the Aquila's Captain. He tapped someone else on the shoulder and the two of them came rushing toward Connor, swords drawn. He didn't bother to fight, instead he turned tail and ran into the undergrowth. Each step made the pain in his head worse and he fought a cough.

Behind a bunch of trees, he hid until the Templars gave up their search and returned to their ship. The world was spinning and Connor had to grab the tree to keep from falling over. He waited for the dizziness to pass before continuing onward, in hopefully what was the same direction Haytham had gone.

Forgetting everything about the man that irritated him, forgetting his wish to separate, he hoped beyond all odds that Haytham was alive. Even if as soon as he found him, he was beaten to near-death for following the man… just please…

Let him be _alive_.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse any geographical inaccuracies of St. Lucia, I didn't get the time to research it as thoroughly as I did St. Augustine. I hope the chapter is enjoyable otherwise :)

Half an hour later, Haytham came unto civilization. To any watching local he seemed like a crazy homeless man, stumbling out of the woods with tattered, grimy clothes and knotted hair.

‘Anse La Raye’ the sign read, a town which only mocked him. There was no triumph, no joy. No feeling of success. Nearby was a tavern, to which he made his way inside and ordered beer. The liquid warmed him as it went down his throat, but it was no comfort. The tavern was full of people and noise. He tried to listen on conversations, but always lost his focus. He was about to get up and leave when suddenly a conversation caught his attention from just a couple tables away.

"Hey, did ya hear what happened? Apparently there's been a shipwreck this morning. They're still picking up debris and bodies washing ashore."

Haytham took another drink, staring blankly at the wall.

"No kidding! Were there any survivors?"

"From what I hear, there were only a handful, and half of them died in the hospital.”

Haytham shut his eyes.

Those were Connor's crew. People the boy had trusted and forged friendships with. He'd known it was bad, but he'd expected more survivors... they were a strong crew, had survived so many ordeals together. They were closer than a family.

Haytham no longer had a family, the last of it had died in that damn shipwreck. He took one last swig, finishing up the beer.

"Who were the survivors? Tell me!" A panicked voice butted in the men's conversation. It sounded faintly familiar, probably someone from the crew but he couldn't be bothered to look.

"Man! You look like crap... I don't know any names, this was all I heard. Are you alright? "

"No... no... I am… looking for someone... my father."

His heart skipped a beat and his gaze slowly drifted upward. No, it couldn’t be. He turned in time to see a trembling figure running a hand through thick, tangled locks, brown eyes wide as he made his way for the exit of the tavern.

Was that... a ghost? Was he hallucinating?

That couldn't have been Connor leaving the tavern just now... there was no way he survived that shipwreck.

Seconds ticked by, and a knot grew in Haytham's chest. Even in the unlikelihood of it, as certain as he was to be disappointed, he had to make sure. Abruptly, he stood and rushed to the door, shivering from the sudden chill of night air. The man from before was walking away, hands clenched at his sides.

"C-Connor?" God his voice was raspy.

The man halted and slowly turned.

Haytham could've sworn his heart stopped as he lost himself in familiar eyes.

Connor was the first to move, coming to stand in front of him, "Father... father..." his eyes watered and Haytham wrapped his arms around the boy and pulled him close, embrace so tight it almost hurt Connor to breathe, but that was okay.

He shuddered at the familiar scent of cedar, burying his face into the crook of Connor's neck. Arms wrapped around him and he caught a whispered, "Father... I am sorry..."

Haytham tightened his grip around the boy, saying nothing. He was content to just stay in this embrace, even closer perhaps than they’d been during their last argument.

That morning just one week ago... bodies flushed together, lips locked in a kiss, it was all still so fresh in his mind. Trying to convince himself he hadn’t enjoyed it, that the Belial was wrong, that he didn't feel these things for his son. Everyone could see it but him, he was just too goddamn stubborn. Still denying his feelings when he'd pleasured himself at the memory of Connor's touch. It was wrong, but it didn’t feel wrong.

Now he wasn't about to deny those feelings, still rendered speechless by the events of the day. Having believed his son was dead... all he felt now was overwhelming relief.

He pulled back slightly, and pressed his lips against the younger man's before he'd had a chance to rethink. What he refused to say aloud he said with a kiss, hoping the boy would understand and forgive him for how much of a failure he was.

It was sloppy, but wrought with desperation and passion as bottled up feelings were let out on one another. Haytham maintained dominance, using his tongue to explore the boy's mouth.

He wouldn't let Connor go. Fate could take away everyone else he loved, but this he was claiming for himself. The last good part of him, and he made it his mission to protect it for any cost, to make the boy proud, to care for him properly.

They broke away from the kiss for air, foreheads resting against each other, arms still wrapped around one another.

A man grumbled as he passed the two on his way to the tavern, and only then were they reminded of where they stood. Some onlookers eyed them with sour expressions, one or two commenting aloud.

They separated then, and Haytham cleared his throat, "Perhaps we should find an inn to rest for the night and wash up?"

Connor nodded. Yes, he needed to wash up desperately. Sand and dirt stuck to his skin, marred by numerous cuts and bruises from battle. Haytham fared no better.

When they finally made it into their room, Haytham grabbed Connor by the arm and led him to a wash basin where he soaked a rag in water, "Take off your shirt."

Connor complied and Haytham quickly set to carefully washing the boy's cuts and scrapes.

"Why the change of heart, Old Man?"

Haytham paused. After a moment he turned away to resoak the rag, "when I... realized you were probably dead, I... it doesn’t matter."

Connor wrapped an arm around Haytham and pulled him closer before kissing him. Even though he still lacked experience, he was more confident this time around, even nipping at Haytham’s lower lip before pulling away.

With a breathless sigh, Haytham refocused on the task at hand, now removing his own coat and shirt to clean his own wounds.

"Father... do you know if anyone else..." Intense, pleading brown eyes met his.

He cleared his throat, "Mr. Faulkner was very much alive last time I saw him. Apart from him, I… don’t know."

Connor nodded and closed his eyes, sighing. Each life unaccounted for was a burden, constricting his insides. Their deaths were on him. Nobody should have had to die… and for what? They hadn’t even known what the mission was all about.

"Your crew is strong. I'm sure they're fine." Who was he trying to assure more?

Connor sighed, "I hope you are right."

Haytham frowned and reached to caress the boy's cheek, forcing him to lock eyes with the elder man, "Connor... I'm _always_ right. Don’t you know this?"

The boy rolled his eyes, fighting a smirk. At least he'd been able to lighten the mood.

He tried to think of something even wittier to say, to further ease the boy's anxiety, but came up short. At last, Connor spoke instead, "According to you, father, we should part ways, never to see each other again. Is that right?"

"It was right at the time." Haytham's breath caught as Connor stepped closer to him, brushing his lips lightly against his father's. "However, certain events... have changed that."

Connor smirked, running a hand along the muscles of the man's abdomen, "so now, father, what should we do?"

In a voice slightly lower than usual, "we should be undressing... to finish washing up."

"Of course."

Haytham nodded, kicked off his boots and made a show of slowly undoing his pants. Connor watched, an eyebrow rising as the man's half-erection was exposed. He bit his lip as he watched his father thoroughly scrub down his legs, then making way to his inner thighs and cock. Finished washing himself, he turned to Connor, waiting.

Cheeks reddened visibly as he too shrugged out of boots and pants. He reached for the washrag, but Haytham held it out of reach. Connor kissed him tenderly, biting hard on a bottom lip as he finally was able to snatch the rag away from his distracted father.

He was slow and deliberate in washing himself, discarding the rag once he too was finished. Haytham, who had remained patient until this point, grabbed Connor and kissed him roughly, pushing him up against the wall. Tan arms wrapped around him, one hand running through graying hair. Flushed cocks rubbed against each other as Haytham pressed closer, pulling away from their kiss only to suck on a neck.

A low whimper escaped Connor as Haytham bit him, only to run his tongue over the now-sensitive flesh. “Father, I..."

Haytham pulled away slightly to look into pleading eyes. "What?"

"I want..." Connor's face reddened again and he averted his gaze.

Haytham grinned, "You don't even know what you want, do you? Have you never done this?"

Connor shook his head and Haytham reached between them, grabbing Connor's erection and pumping. "Then I will just have to teach you."

Voice shaky, Connor said, “Not… not all the way… not yet.”

Haytham nodded his silent agreement. That was for the best. He himself was still unsure about these feelings. Yet Connor wasn’t his first man to bed. Connor had never bedded anybody, let alone a man. A man who happened to be his father.

"Get on the bed." He ordered and Connor complied.

The boy's obedience was a welcomed difference to their constant arguing. Being able to control such an assassin while he was vulnerable... these things only added to Haytham’s growing arousal. He was tempted to simply pin the boy and fuck him senseless, as he'd fantasized about, but no. This time... he'd rather take this slow. Give Connor the time to learn, to adjust these new feelings. He wanted to take his time with the boy, really show how he felt. To prove he could be something more than a heartless asshole.

In time he could give in to his rough kink, but for now...

He leaned over the younger man, kissing him tenderly. He watched the boy’s eyes glaze over and mouth hang open as he arched into Haytham’s touch, unable to stop his moans.

For these few minutes, Connor was able to forget about the shipwreck, forget about Charles Lee and what he had to do. All that ran through his mind was how good it felt to be touched by someone other than himself.

It wasn’t long before he lost his senses, spewing seed all over their stomachs. Haytham watched in silence, enjoying the boy's loss of control all too much. He would memorize the faces he was making, the way he clenched the bed sheets.

As the moment ended, Haytham lie beside the boy, kissing along his neck. His own sex was still throbbing, grazing along the boy's hip.

Connor turned toward his father. "What about you... do you need..."

"Never you mind that, Connor. I won't pressure you into things you're yet uncomfortable with."

Connor sneered, snaking a hand between them to grasp Haytham's member, "It is only fair that I return the favor."

"As... as you wish." Haytham said between pants.

Connor kept his eyes locked on his father's face, watching his expressions as he experimented. All he had to go on was the little tricks he himself enjoyed. Twisting of the wrist, rubbing the slit, massaging balls.

Just watching the man close his eyes and bite his lip as he found release was almost enough to arouse Connor again. _Almost_.

After some moments of silence in which Haytham slowly came down from his high, he scowled, "After we just washed up too."

Connor said nothing, finding himself dozing in the onset of sleep.

Haytham stood, "Get up so I clean you."

Connor mumbled and refused to budge.

"I am not sleeping with you coated in semen, Connor!"

Still the boy would not move.

Haytham sighed, setting to washing the two of them, once again. As soon as he was finished, he returned to his place beside the boy, who lay silent, eyebrows furrowed in contemplation. He didn’t have to guess what was crossing the boy's mind.

"Tomorrow, we will find your crew. Safe and sound, awaiting the return of their captain. Then together we will find a new ship as well as that bloody artifact. A sound plan, yes?"

Connor wanted to believe that. Wanted to believe that by some miracle, he'd wake up and his entire crew would be fine, waiting for him on an undamaged Aquila. He kept the image in his head as he slid closer to his father, "Thank you..."

He wasn't quite sure what he was thanking him for, but it felt right to do so. For the moment, he was his only comfort. Beside the man, he realized, he felt safer than he had in years, despite being on a strange new island so far away from home.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ugh.

"I want to go back."

Haytham eyed the boy, "Why?"

"To see if we can find any of the crew. I just... I have to know."

He suspected a more sinister reason for returning, but nodded. Whatever it was, he wouldn't be able to talk him out of it, so he might as well go along and make sure the lad didn’t get himself into too much trouble.

Soon enough they found themselves crouched in the bushes on the edge of the woods, looking out over the familiar harbor. The bodies were gone, along with any cargo that managed to survive the wreck. All that was left were broken wood, torn fabric and busted barrels.

The Templar ship remained anchored mere yards away, but most of its crew were long gone, having gone into town to search for the artifact. Did they have any idea their targets were still alive? Did they think their mission succeeded, that the two were dead?

There was no sign of Connor's crew. Haytham had suspected as much, and watched his son closely.

"Let us kill them."

So he'd been right. Connor wanted revenge.

"Are you mad, boy? We should be going after the artifact, not picking fights and giving them the opportunity to steal to the Belial!"

"We can destroy their means of travel. Just as they did to us. Or are you scared of them, Old Man?"

"Heavens no! I'm just not too keen on us wasting our bloody time."

Connor glared at him, "Then I will go alone."

"Lad, wa-"

But Connor was already gone, sprinting down the beach toward the enemy. Haytham cursed under his breath and ran after the boy. They really were too much alike. After all, he himself had sought revenge on Reginald for his family...

And where did that get him? Nowhere. Instead it had actually made everything worse, cost the lives of...

No. He couldn't think about that now. That was for another day.

 

Only a handful of Templars were aboard the ship, most of them on deck patrolling. One of them spotted the two figures running toward the ship and withdrew his sword. He called out to the other guards just as Connor reached the water, swimming as quickly as he could towards the ship. Finally he climbed the hull and jumped over, onto the deck.

The guard was no match for him. In moments the Templar’s lifeless body fell, blood pouring onto the deck from a slit throat. The other guards had joined the fight, as well as Haytham who took stance beside Connor.

"You couldn't be a bit more _stealthy_? We could've had this wrapped up much quicker!" Haytham hissed at the boy.

 "How stealthy can one be on a _beach_?"

A Templar made the first move, striking Haytham from the right, but he was parried by the man’s sword. Another attacked Connor, but was also blocked.

With a few quick strikes, Haytham had cut down another guard, who collapsed holding his torn-open stomach. Another two soon found their deaths as well, distracted by their growing fear.

The final guard, now alone, threw down his sword and fell to his knees, hands raised.

Connor and Haytham shared curious glances before the former stepped forward, "Why did you attack that ship?"

He pointed towards the remnants of the Aquila.

"W-we were just following o-orders!"

" _Whose_ orders?"

"English m-man with short hair, k-kind of fat in the belly."

So it wasn’t Charles after all, as they’d expected. No, this one was Reginald’s work.

"How did he know we would be here?"

Now the man's gaze flicked to Haytham, "Well. That’s all thanks to… our former _Grand Master_."

Connor turned to eye his father.

The man continued, "We could say this is all _your_ fault. If you hadn't been so-"

"Enough of this." Haytham withdrew his pistol. The Templar didn’t have time to utter another word before his head was blown apart. The rest of his body slumped over to join his comrades in death.

Immediately Connor rounded on his father, "He _surrendered_! He could have helped us!"

"As soon as we set him free, he'd report back to his Templar brothers and inform them of our survival."

"Like they would not figure it out when they see their ship destroyed? Or did you just kill him so he would not continue spilling information on _you_?"

"The _only_ thing that man was capable of spilling was a barmy opinion forged by bigoted superiors, namely Charles and Reginald. Now as much as I’d _love_ to continue this little chat of ours, we are on board an enemy ship. Whatever you wish to do, I suggest you do it _now_."

Brown eyes glared daggers at him before Connor set out for the cargo hold. Luckily, the layout of this ship was similar to the Aquila, so finding the room didn’t take too long. Once inside, he found and lit a nearby oil lantern, throwing it into a barrel of gunpowder. Quickly, he rejoined Haytham on deck and they barely managed to jump overboard before the ship blew apart.

Back onshore and wringing out their soaked coats, Haytham said, "Come now, let’s go before they see the smoke and come running back to check on their precious ship."

\----  
The trek back to Anse La Raye was made in an uncomfortable silence. Whatever affections the pair had shared the night previous seemed to have vanished, replaced by a familiar tenseness. Neither could pick out a solid reason as to why. Perhaps it was due to Connor’s disappointment that Haytham continued to needlessly kill.

Just outside the town, the two men halted simultaneously, both in their tracks and in their thoughts as a curious noise met their ears. A voice.

A figure approached them, and Haytham’s hand went to the hilt of his sword on instinct. Connor, however, withheld a breath. The figure was male, dirty and torn clothes. His face couldn’t be seen through the shadows of trees.

"Captain!"

Connor sighed in relief, "You are alive!"

Even Haytham could not deny the relief that swept through his body once he recognized the voice of Mr. Faulkner.

"Where... I mean... how many?" Connor could not find the words.

Mr. Faulkner fidgeted, "Lad, I hate to break it to ya... only half the crew survived. They're fit to be tied, but still in shock I suppose. Obviously the Aquila's ruined, but I bet we can find ourselves a new ship round here somewhere."

"I did not mean for this to happen... to put you and all of them in danger."

"Aye, things happen. It ain’t your fault."

"Where are they?"

"Oh, there's quite a few locals sympathetic to what happen’. Farmers. Inn keepers. They're helping out a lot. What about you, Captain? Any luck finding the artifact?"

"No."

"Well you better focus on that, Lad. Don't worry about us and don’t beat yourself up about what happened. We don’t hold you responsible."

"Thank you. I will return to check up on you... and the others."

\-----  
*three days later*

Haytham and Connor sat at an inn in Dennery, eating bread and cold turkey. Haytham’s order included a cup of Earl Grey tea while Connor opted for milk. Traveling from Anse la Raye to Soufriere, Choiseul and even Micoud; they spent all their time questioning locals, eavesdropping and researching local legends, but found nothing about any mysterious artifact. Their mission was going nowhere and to make it all worse, the island swarmed with Templars. They could only hope their enemies were having as little luck as they were.

Haytham scowled, "Don't you know how to eat properly?"

Connor glared at him. Why did the man feel the need to comment on everything? The way he was eating was just fine! Unless there was some _proper_  way to eat bread that he was yet unaware of. He doubted it. Haytham sighed and reached over the table to wipe away crumbs from the boy's cheek. Connor stilled as fingers rubbed against his face, uncomfortable. He wasn’t quite sure what the man was doing.

"There. Relax, Boy." Haytham retracted his hand, pleased with his work.

Connor blinked a few times before taking his bread and purposely missing his mouth, letting the crumbs mark his face once more. Whether it was to irritate the man or prompt him to repeat his previous action, Connor wasn’t completely sure.

Haytham deadpanned him, "I'm not doing that again. If you wish to continue working together, I’d rather not be seen with a bloody pig who can’t even clean his own face."

The boy opened his mouth to retort, but immediately closed it again and tensed when he noticed a figure approaching them. Eyes narrowed as this man came up behind Haytham and placed a hand on his shoulder.

At first, Haytham also tensed, but relaxed once more as he recognized the familiar face. Connor's quizzical gaze shifted between his father and the strange man now standing behind him.

"I thought you were dead, Shay."

The man scoffed and pulled over an extra chair to their table. Connor tensed and removed his hands, setting them in his lap instead, leaving the half-eaten bread forgotten. He eyed the Templar insignia on the man’s coat.

"Likewise, Haytham. Heard you were exiled? Caught working with an Assassin? Is it true?"

Haytham sighed and Shay continued, "Tell me the full story, Haytham. All I have to go by are rumors from a bunch of bored sailors."

"You remember Charles, Shay? He caught me and told me off to Reginald. Of course they didn’t take to it kindly."

"I can’t say I disagree with them.” Shay’s brows furrowed, “Why an Assassin? Was it a girl?"

Connor's fists clenched, but he kept silent, still studying the new man beside him. A long scar adorned the right side of the man’s face and long graying hair was pulled into a ponytail with a red tie.

"No. We were after the same target and decided to combine our efforts."

Shay nodded, but the scowl remained as he finally turned to Connor, acknowledging his existence for the first time, "And who might this be?"

"My son." Haytham answered before Connor could get a word out. The boy was visibly tense under Shay’s critical gaze. Had he still been in his Assassin robes, he mused, things would’ve already gotten real ugly.

"What brought you two to St. Lucia? Hiding?"

"Actually, Shay, we're here on a mission. As you know, Charles has taken my place as Grand Master. He's out to collect the artifacts and use them for ill."

Shay's scowl deepened, "The artifacts we discovered all those years ago? Now all these chaotic orders are starting to make a lick of sense."

"Indeed. Charles has the apple. We've already got the Belial, but on our way here, we were set upon by a fleet of Templars."

Realization hit Shay and eyes grew wide, "That shipwreck the other day... that was  _you_? You… you must be here for the Choronzon then?"

"You remember? I’m afraid Holden's journal was ruined in the wreck..."

“I may be old, Sir, but my memory is still sharp, and the Morrigan’s just been repaired!” He leaned in and lowered his voice significantly, “You don’t need to search the island; I know where the Choronzon is. It was on a ship called the Varuna that sailed out some years ago headed for Africa. It never made it. Wrecked in the Atlantic, ended up on the coast of South America. I can take you."                                                                                                                                                                                    

"You're aware of the risks, Shay?"

"It's the least I can do for you, Haytham! What those men are doing is despicable. Superiors or not, I couldn’t give a damn less. If I can help stop him, by all means, allow me!" 

Connor eyed his father quizzically, still uneasy about this man…  _Shay_. He’d never heard the name and was quite curious about the man. Even in this short interaction, he could sense a strong trust between the two. He wasn’t sure if he liked it.

“Alright.”

Shay nodded and stood, “I will gather my crew. Meet me on the docks tomorrow at noon. We’ll leave as soon as you’re ready.”

As soon as he was out of the tavern, Connor opened his mouth and Haytham immediately raised a hand to silence him, having anticipated a barrage of questions.

“Shay is a competent swordsman and captain. I trust him dearly.” He slowly took a sip of tea, and leaned back, “Our issue of transport is resolved.”

After a moment of silence, Haytham frowned, “My only issue is how you two would get along. You already seem to despise him and I’m sure he’ll be most… displeased to find out you’re an Assassin.”

Connor glared.

“You must act as my ally and son, nothing more. Do not tell him of your allegiance.”

“What would he do if I were to let it… slip?”

Haytham leaned forward and crossed his arms on the table. Maintaining eye contact, he muttered quite seriously, “I’d rather we not find out. Don’t test him, boy, it would only harm  _you_.”

“What of my crew? Would you have me just leave them behind?”  
“Yes. That is  _exactly_  what you’re going to do, Connor.”

“After what we forced them into, this is how we pay them back?”

Haytham sighed, “We can’t wait for them to find a new ship. That’ll undoubtedly take months, if not longer. Who knows what madness Charles will entail in that time.”

Connor averted his gaze, jaw clenched. Haytham was right, but that still didn’t justify his abandoning the crew and Mr. Faulkner. Not after all they’d done for him. For _them_.

Haytham reached into his bag, pulling out a small pouch of coins and slid it over to Connor. This action earned an eyebrow raise from the boy across from him.

“Give this to Mr. Faulkner. It’s all we have and it isn’t much, however… it’ll help. We don’t require it. With Shay on our side, we’ll be more than fine financially.”

Connor took it slowly, picking it up and weighing it.

“If you go now, you might return before nightfall.”

“What about you?”

“I will remain here. There are… some matters to discuss with Shay.”

Connor rolled his eyes and fought the urge to comment further, instead standing and making his way past his father, out of the inn. Perhaps this long walk alone would provide him ample time to conjure enough patience to deal with that Shay fellow.

Haytham allowed a few minutes to pass before he finished his tea and set off in search for his long-lost student.

\-----  
It wasn’t hard to find Shay with the use of eagle vision. He was at a tavern, mingling with members of his own crew, ordering them to prepare to leave the following day. Shay was only slightly surprised when Haytham found him, tapping him on the shoulder and nodding towards the exit. He followed without a word.

He waited for them to get outside, out of earshot of the tavern-goers before he asked, “What’s this about, Haytham? Where’s your son?”

 “Tying up loose ends before we depart. I needed to speak to you anyways, without him around.”

“I’m listening.”

Haytham held eye contact for this part, “He must not know about what we did to… about the purge.”

“Why?”  
“He… had family of questionable alliance. Really, a sensitive topic for the boy. Best not to bring it up.”

The bluff was weak, but Haytham hoped it would get his point across. The last thing he needed was for these two to be at each other’s throats the entire voyage. Hopefully Shay wouldn’t question it too much.

Somehow, even with Shay’s agreement to silence, to Haytham it seemed inevitable that his wishes for peace would, once again, be unfulfilled. Only time could tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there are any Shaytham fans here, don't get your hopes up. There won't be any Shaytham here (that'll be in a different fic) ;) 
> 
> Also, since Rogue is coming out tomorrow (IM SO EXCITED OMFG), I will make sure to warn if there are spoilers in the upcoming chapters.


	14. Chapter 14

As planned, Haytham and Connor met Shay at the docks the following afternoon with only the Belial and Haytham's bag as their belongings.

"That's all you're bringing?" Shay asked, curiously eyeing the bag. He had never seen the Belial for himself, but he was well aware of its power and origin. Knowing that such a dangerous object was so close by almost made him uncomfortable. At least, it was better in Haytham’s hands than a man like Charles.

"It's all we own at the moment."

"Alright. Follow me."

Shay led them toward an awaiting ship, whose hull bore the name 'Morrigan'. The ship was lined with the most advanced canons, the strongest hull and ice ram. Its sails were black, large red Templar cross adorning their middles.

It was to these sails Haytham nodded, "Those are new."

Shay grinned, "Ah, yes. I had them personally tailored with the strongest linen **.** Do you like them?"

"They're certainly eye-catching."

Connor, however frowned at them, feeling the onset of nauseousness in his stomach. This would be a very long voyage indeed. Where had Shay said the shipwreck was? South America?

The crew quickly went to work as the trio made their way onto the ship, some shouting 'hoorahs' as their captain boarded.

“Where is Master Gist?” Haytham asked at length when the man failed to make his presence known.

Yet another unfamiliar name to Connor, though he made sure to memorize it for later questioning. He still had no idea who Shay himself was, or how he knew Haytham.

“He’s been reassigned to lead investigations on the box. I suspect Charles had sent me to guard St. Lucia because I am the most skilled in naval warfare, but he never mentioned the artifacts. The order was simply to ‘guard the island from suspicious persons until search teams had retrieved necessary supplies or directed otherwise’.”

“Your previous affiliation with me must make Charles suspicious of you. Even as he uses you for his cause, his true intentions are kept hidden in order to maintain your obedience. We’re all familiar with how you deal with less-than-agreeable ideologies, Shay.”

This method of covert manipulation was far too familiar to Haytham. He himself had been victim to Reginald since he was ten. Charles Lee and Reginald were far too similar.

Shay reclaimed his rightful place at the wheel his two companions looked around. Haytham felt a wave of nostalgia, remembering the last time he'd been on this ship some 18 years before. His son only felt dread, wishing he could just return to the Aquila or simply find a different means for transport. He knew, however, that it wouldn't happen. The two of them had argued about this well into the night previous upon his return, but Connor was fighting discomfort while Haytham had valid points to his argument; boarding a Templar ship would disguise their location and alleviate suspicion. It was the quickest and safest way to get where they needed to be.

"You can take Gist’s quarters. There is only one bed, but you can fetch an extra hammock from one of the crew."

That was a small relief to Connor, already feeling the anxiety of being constantly surrounded by his enemies. Sharing a room with his father would provide at least a little comfort. If Haytham minded, he didn’t show it, simply nodding and looking out over the bay.

Connor watched St. Lucia fade into the distance behind them, overcome with a strong backlash of guilt as he thought again about his crew and the struggles they now faced. Hopefully, now that the two of them were gone, the crew was no longer in danger of the Templars. Still, that did little to ease him.

"Where are we going?" He asked Shay. This was the first time he'd spoken directly to the man. In fact, this was the first time Shay heard the boy speak at all.

"Belem. It is directly on the coast of Brazil. About a months' voyage ahead of us."

\-----  
*that night*

Haytham, sporting only a white half-open button down shirt and his undergarments, lie in bed, eyes closed in an obvious struggle for sleep. He sighed as Connor continued to pace the room, fists clenching and unclenching.

"Would you just go to bed, Lad?"

"I cannot. I do not like being in a ship full of... Templars." He made sure to say the name with extra venom.

"Oh how the tides have turned! Now you know what I had to deal with on the Aquila!"

Connor turned to his father and snapped, "You are not helping!" After a moment, he frowned and averted his gaze, returning to his pacing, "I apologize... for your... previous discomfort..."

That rose an eyebrow. The boy was actually apologizing? Was he that worked up about their current situation?

Haytham thought a moment before he sat upright and said, "Come here."

Connor, confusion plainly written all over his face, slowly came to stand by his father. He tensed as pale hands grabbed his hips and pulled him roughly into the elder’s lap.

"Father, what are you-"

"Shh, Lad." Haytham brushed his lips against Connor's, stealing light kisses. He combed his fingers through the boy's hair, slowly kissing along a tan jaw and neck. Connor visibly relaxed, wrapping his own arms around the other man.

"Does this help?" Haytham whispered against Connor's neck, nipping gently.

"Father, you are rather… affectionate… tonight..."

Haytham grimaced, "Don’t mistake my intentions. I merely want sleep and I know I won't be getting it if you're stomping around the bloody room all night. I thought this might help you relax...  it always relaxed your mother."

Haytham tried to pull away, but Connor held him tightly, "I did not mean to offend... I appreciate it, Father."

"You better." He bit gently on the boy's lower lip and kissed him tenderly.

Connor kissed back a little more hungrily, a tan hand wandering downwards to unbutton the rest of Haytham's shirt. Although Haytham had not planned on anything more than kisses, he didn’t fight the boy, instead rather enjoying the boy’s eagerness.

"Lad, what are you up to?”

Connor smirked as he nipped an earlobe, "It is your fault, Father. You cannot expect me not to be... affected… when you kiss me and touch me with what you're wearing..."

It really was too easy and yet... perhaps certain not-so-innocent activities would exhaust the boy enough to make him sleep.

So he made to pull off Connor's shirt and licked a puckered nipple, forcing a whimper out of the boy.

"You're going to have to keep your bloody mouth shut... and I know how difficult that is for you."

Just remembering all the loud moans and cries he could force out of the boy made his cock twitch in anticipation. Oh, this would be fun. He'd make the boy a whimpering mess underneath him, gagging him if he had to. They just couldn’t let the crew of the Morrigan, especially not Shay, know what they really were. Even in exile, pride was to be maintained.

Connor pushed him back into a lying position and leaned over him, hands roaming and caressing his chest and abdomen, briefly lingering over a prominent scar. He wondered who and what had caused this, what stories it held, but these too were questions for another day. Thoughts returning to the task at hand, he rutted against the man underneath him, relishing the pleasure of friction.

“Am I to assume you’re taking command?”

“You wanted me to relax. I can relax more when I am leading.”

“Perhaps, however…” In mere seconds, Haytham had Connor rolled over, pinned underneath him and snaked a hand between them to undo the boy's pants, “ _I_ will be in control. I am more experienced, after all.”

Connor shuddered, moaning a little too loudly as the older man stroked him. Tan hands tangled in graying hair, trying to force Haytham closer, but the man pulled away. Instead, Connor found a hand covering his mouth, muffling his moans.

“I said to shut that mouth, Boy.”

Connor barely stifled the moans and whimpers escaping him as Haytham quickened his pace. It was  damned amusing to watch the boy writhe in such a vulnerable state, completely at Haytham’s mercy. Determined to fuel it, he leaned in close to the boy's ear, whispering so low Connor almost missed what he was saying.

"Remember when you kissed me the first time, Connor? How I beat you senseless and you stormed out of the room? Do you want to know what I did next?"

The boy was slightly confused as to why he'd bring that up now, of all times, but was curious nonetheless. Unable to speak clearly, he eyed his father questioningly.

With an arrogant smirk plastered on his flushed face, Haytham continued, "I touched myself, as I'm touching you now, and I fantasized about throwing you down and fucking you senseless."

Haytham had never in his entire life seen a man blush as much as Connor did in that instant. The boy nervously sputtered and averted his gaze, but Haytham simply adjusted about an inch and forced their eyes to lock.

"That's not all, Connor. I fantasized that you returned to catch me. What would you have done?"

Connor stammered as the hand covered his mouth was removed, "I... what did you 'fantasize' I would do?"

"Do you know what fellatio is, perchance?"

The boy's silence gave him his answer. For an assassin, Connor was surprisingly innocent-minded, too much so for his own good. The boy could slaughter an army without a second thought, and yet the smallest mention of anything sexual could send him reeling.

A cheeky grin slowly spread across Haytham's face and Connor eyed him carefully. What was the man up to?

Haytham separated himself from Connor and stood, "Well, I will just have to show you. Come. Sit on the edge of the bed."

Connor obliged, already desperately missing the other man's touch. He watched silently as Haytham got to his knees and grabbed him. A pleasurable shiver ran down the boy's spine as Haytham slowly licked along the bottom of his shaft up to the tip before taking him into his mouth. All while maintaining eye contact, eyes glazed with lust.

There was no fighting the moans and whimpers as Haytham worked him, far too talented at this particular task than perhaps _anyone_ should be.

It didn't take long for Connor to lose control, fisting Haytham's hair as he came. The older man took it without complaint, ignoring the bitter taste as it slipped down his throat.

Connor laid back and Haytham crawled over him, "That was _much_ too loud."

The boy smirked, "That is your fault."

"What if someone overheard? I think punishment is in order."

"It is not like you can _make_ me be quiet."

"I could force myself into your mouth until you cooperate. However, I refrain because you are my son and I am more civilized than that. There should be thanks."

Connor rolled his eyes. As if their familial relation had led to mercy before! Connor snuck a hand between them to stroke his father, earning himself a groan.

"Let me return the favor."

"Alright. Let’s see how much you managed to retain from your little 'lesson'."

Haytham removed the rest of his clothing and lie beside the boy. Connor held the man's hips as he tested the waters cautiously, licking along the bottom just as Haytham had done. He copied the actions he remembered, mixing them up to keep it interesting. At one point his eagerness to please may have driven him to go too fast and he was forced to pull away a moment to quit gagging.

"Too much for you?" Haytham smirked, idly fingering a lock of the boy's hair.

Connor gave him a glare before setting back to work, if but a tad more careful. The noises he was forcing out of his father were intoxicating, filling him with the confidence to experiment.

The man's legs were trembling, hand curling in the boy's hair and yanking him forward as he thrust, only once, spilling his seed down the boy's throat. Connor had to fight his gag reflexes again, forcing himself to swallow the bitter liquid. Finally, he was released from Haytham's grip.

"Now, will you finally be able to sleep?”

Connor didn’t respond, instead curling up soundly against his father. He wasn’t entirely thrilled about the taste that now filled his mouth, but he figured watching Haytham lose control because of him was more than worth the cost.

\-----  
 ***26 days later***

**September, 1778**

 

It was to Connor's immense relief when land _finally_ came into view. A long stretch of beach, backed by vast expanse of wilderness. Not unlike St. Lucia. They followed the coast on the Morrigan for several miles before they found the remains of an overturned ship on the beach, its sails shredded and flapping loose in the wind. Luckily, they were met with silence. No Templars, ships or any other sign of human interference could be found.

They anchored as close as they could to shore without damaging the Morrigan.

"I will await your return." Shay said as the anchor was dropped.

"Right. You stay behind and do nothing." Connor mumbled, earning him a glare from both Templars.  The entire month on the ship, Connor’s suspicion of the man hadn’t faded. Even when Shay attempted small talk, Connor seldom replied.

The second night on board, Haytham had finally explained their having met some 24 years ago, though he left out the key facts leading up to it. Perhaps it was just this, the fact that he and Shay had their fair share of secrets that made Connor dislike him. He was almost like a second Haytham with his secrets and mysteries, and that was just far too much.

"If there are Templars on the island, I don't want them knowing I’m helping you. Anchoring so close is risky enough."

"There is not a soul in sight! You-"

"Shut your bloody mouth before I shut it for you." Haytham cut in, seething. Under his glare, Connor shrugged and walked nonchalantly away, pacing.

“Excuse him, his manners are still to be improved. I appreciate your assistance in our cause, Shay."

"Do you need extra help? I can send some of my men with you."

"That won't be necessary. We will return shortly. Let's go, Connor."

Shay’s glare lingered on Connor a little too long as he watched the pair make their way to the shipwreck. The boy’s ill manners weren’t his only issue. This was the precise reason he had the two of them share a room; he trusted Connor perhaps even less than Connor trusted him.

Haytham poorly kept the secret of Connor’s allegiance. However, he was working for a proper cause after all, Assassin or not; but that did not make them allies. Shay’s silence was only to appease Haytham, and his patience would not last much longer at this rate.


	15. Chapter 15

The Varuna was a pitiful sight indeed. Its entire front half was submerged and what remained above was in pieces, all rotten and threatening to collapse at any moment. Here and there sat skeletons, poised as if guarding the ruins of their ship. 

Even with so much war, after having witnessed so much death, Connor still became uneasy just looking at the human remains.

After a thorough scrounge of the visible half of the Varuna, Haytham sighed and voiced the inevitable, "We'll have to dig until we find the cargo hold."

Connor eyed the man as he stepped aside, "Oh, you mean _I_ have to do it?"

"You're still younge. You can get it done much faster than I can."

The Assassin scoffed but began to dig nonetheless, carelessly throwing aside handfuls of sand. At one point he managed to hit Haytham with it, dirtying his breeches and boots. The man snarled in response, fighting the urge to literally strangle his son.

As it would happen, only moments later, the sand where Connor dug caved in on itself, revealing a large hollow pocket. The inside of the Varuna. 

Haytham leaned over Connor to get a better look, "Seems you didn't have to do much work after all."

"And I suppose you will have me go in there on my own?"

"Are you afraid? Do I need to-"

"Enough." Connor growled, sliding down into the confined space.

The water reaches up to his knees, mucky with algae from its years of stagnant confinement. There is barely enough room to stand much less walk, and the visibility is worse. Luckily, Eagle Vision makes the search just a bit easier. Not by much, but it's enough.

Connor found himself surrounded by rotting wood, busted barrels and cargo boxes. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Until one particular box caught his eye. Not because it was anything spectacular, it was just another aged and broken box, but it _did_ have a faint golden glow it it.

"Have you found anything?" Haytham called to him, unable to see what Connor is doing.

"I have found... something." Connor answered back. The box he was eyeing was, unfortunately, behind a rather high pile of gunpowder barrels and collapsed wood. He had to carefully pull away each plank and push aside the barrels slowly.

"Well… what is it?" So impatient.

At last Connor had reached the box and carefully opened the lid. Inside sat a metallic object, six-sided and ending in two points, thickest at its center. It was adorned with the familiar markings of the precursor race. No doubt about it, this was the artifact they'd been searching for.

"I have it, Father!"

Haytham sighed in relief, "Hurry on up then, Lad. We best leave before-"

The side of the ship Haytham had been standing beside burst apart and Haytham barely had time to dash behind the remains of the Varuna before more gunshots tore through the air.

"What is going on?" Connor called out, tucking the artifact in a pocket before gripping the edge of the exit hole, prepared to hoist himself out.

After some moments of silence, Haytham dared to peek out from his hiding place. A man of average height and weight clad in dark attire had come from the woods. Now, he walked cautiously towards the Varuna, pistol pointed at Haytham’s hiding place. A quick use of Eagle Vision confirmed Haytham’s suspicion - this was a Templar.

Haytham silently unholstered his own gun and glanced at Connor, whispering, "At my signal, run."

"Father, wai-"

But Haytham was already gone. He'd hauled himself from his hiding place, shooting at the stranger as he ran in the opposite direction of the Morrigan. The Templar was forced to find his own cover from the gunfire, behind a fallen tree.

In the midst of the fight, Connor was able to climb out of the hole. Sparing the shortest of glances at his father, who met his eyes for but a second, before turning and running straight for the Morrigan.

Unfortunately, the Templar had already caught on, and took the opportunity whilst Haytham reloaded his gun to take off after the Assassin.

"No! Damn!" Haytham hollered, raising the pistol and shooting. He was too careless, his aim was off, the bullets merely kicking up sand inches from the Templar's feet.  If only he wasn’t panicking, his heart racing and fingers trembling, perhaps he wouldn’t have missed.

Connor heard the click of the man's pistol behind him and dodged to the right seconds before the bullets sailed past him. Yet the Templar was still gaining, closing the distance between them quickly. The only way out of this was to fight.

The Assassin halted, digging his heels into the sand and spinning himself around. In one swift movement, he had his hidden blade ejected and thrust forward to stab the Templar before him.

At least, that's what he _tried_ to do.

The Templar had once again predicted the move and ducked, slamming the butt of his pistol against the side of Connor's skull.

The world spun, Connor's vision blurry. The Templar took advantage of his vulnerability, snatching the artifact and setting off towards the treeline in a sprint. Haytham cursed under his breath and ran after the man. Unfortunately, he was old, he simply couldn't run as fast as he used too, and their target was still in his peak physically.

It took a few seconds for Connor to recollect himself, and followed the two others in their chase.

The overgrowth only served to further complicate things. The Templar was almost beyond their line of sight, and yet Haytham and Connor continued forcing their way forward.

Finally, the edge of the growth appeared, a clearing on the edge of a village. Just yards away, a group of men waited, whispering amongst themselves. The Templar ran straight for them, and Haytham was forced to halt at the edge of the woods. The man joined the group, handing the artifact over to someone...

"Damnit!" Haytham muttered. From behind him came the snapping of twigs and branches and he barely managed to catch Connor and force him to a stop before anyone could see him.

"What are yo-"

Haytham quickly covered the boy's mouth and nodded towards the group he was eyeing, "Look!"

Connor turned, only for his entire body to tense.

The Templar they'd chased spoke to a disturbingly familiar man. None other than Charles Lee. The new Templar Grand Master who now not only had the Apple of Eden, but also the Choronzon. Two extremely dangerous items that would undoubtedly be used to overpower and enslave.

Charles demanded details from the Templar, who now pointed towards the woods, talking excitedly. Charles and his group eyed the overbrush cautiously. Haytham and Connor couldn’t hear the exact words, but the message was clear. Their presence was known to Lee.

Haytham pulled Connor by the arm back the way they'd come.

"We can fight them! We have to take it back!" Connor struggled, pulling himself free from Haytham's grip.

"No! You have no idea how dangerous that particular artifact is, especially paired with the apple! It's impossible!"

Connor opened his mouth, struggling for words, but none came. He looked from the Templars back to his father, who pleaded with his eyes to simply _listen_.

"He will be stopped, but not today, Connor. It's an impossible fight."

Connor sighed and nodded, following Haytham back to the Morrigan, the Templars on their tail.

\---

Shay stood, eyeing the Varuna with concerned curiosity. Earlier there'd been gunshots, yelling, and then... nothing. His view was blocked by the overturned ship and he couldn't help but wonder if Haytham and the boy were dead. Briefly he considered going to shore himself or sending a few of his men to check, but decided to simply wait. Getting involved might only complicate things further.

Yet... something didn't feel quite right. The two had been gone for _far_ too long.

Maybe the boy had turned against Haytham and taken the artifacts for himself. It'd be typical for an Assassin anyway; it was likely. The way the boy followed the man around, father or not, _was_ a bit odd. He could be a spy, working for Charles, or a number of different people wanting the artifacts.

Shay's entire body tensed.

Then, a noise disrupted his thoughts. Shouting. Fed up with his own ignorance, he climbed the mast just high enough to see two figures running down the beach towards the Morrigan. Squinting, he could make out Haytham and Connor.

As they closed the distance, he could begin to understand the shouting, "Templars! We must go!"

Shay quickly jumped down from his vantage point and ordered the crew to hoist anchor and open the sails. As Haytham and Connor reached the ship, he reached out and helped pull the two aboard.

"What's going on?" He eyed Haytham.

"Charles Lee. He knew we'd be here. A spy was waiting and he took the Choronzon."

"He... he took the Choronzon?" Shay couldn't wrap his head around the news. No. That had to be a lie. There was no way!

Haytham sighed and repeated, "Yes."

Shay for a moment, said nothing. Eyes closed and fists clenched at his sides as he let the information sink in. This was _not_ good. At all.

In a sudden flash of anger, Shay rounded on Connor, "You did this, didn't you?"

Connor glared at him, braced for an attack, "I did nothing!"

Shay stepped closer to him, so that he was mere inches from the boy, "After I found you at the inn, and you went to 'tie up loose ends', you told someone! You had this planned! Who are you working for?"

Shay went to grab the boy by his collar, but Connor easily knocked his hands away, and within a few seconds both had hidden blades at each other's throats.

"I told no one. I want to see Charles dead, not _risen to power._ "

"Not Charles, then who? A damned Assassin?"

It was then that Haytham decided to cut in, placing a firm hand on the Captain's shoulder, "Shay."

Shay glared at Connor for a few more moments before withdrawing his hidden blade and taking a step backwards. Haytham then watched Connor expectedly, waiting for him to comply. Which he did, finally, withdrawing his blade but refusing to move.

Haytham pulled Shay aside, out of earshot from Connor.

"How did yo-"

"You're not the only one with The Sense, Sir,"

Ah, right. Eagle Vision. So the man had known all along of Connor's true allegiance.

"Why are you working with him? He is an _Assassin_ , he can't be trusted. Is it just because he's your son?"

"Our blood tie has _nothing_ to do with it. He is a valuable asset and I'm merely using him to take down Charles. That’s all." Just a couple months ago, this would’ve been truth. Now?

Shay scoffed, "Valuable asset, my arse."

"I can assure you, Shay, he is trustworthy. He has the same goals we do, the same wishes as us."

Shay stared at him for a while longer before sighing and turning away, "I'm keeping my eye on him. _Someone_ has to."

\----

Connor leaned over a railing, taking in the salty scent of the night air. The sun had set long ago, and all the crew was below deck, sleeping, save for someone at the wheel. Whoever it was wasn't paying attention to the boy, and for that he was grateful.

What had brought him up here was a sense of hollow nostalgia. He'd never been so far from the village...

He wondered if his mom had ever been outside the colonies. Had ever been on a ship like this one and traveled around the world. It seemed unlikely, but the thought made his stomach churn. Fourteen years had come and gone; yet the pain was still unbearable, the memory fresh enough to be from yesterday.

He'd spent his entire life hunting down the man he thought responsible for her death. In the end, it wasn’t even the right man. It was his own ally's work. Washington. And that revenge would have to wait, if it was ever to be taken.

Connor rested his forehead against the railing.

Perhaps he'd never get the chance to figure it out, never get the chance to rightfully have his revenge.  Because now he had to stop Charles and even that was looking nearly impossible. Would he get out alive? Would his father?

What would Zio say if she could see them now? Would she be disappointed at what he'd become? Would she be proud that he and his father were working together for a bigger cause?

"Connor?"

Right. Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

Connor didn't raise his head, didn't open his eyes. They were watery, burning. He couldn't let his father see him this way.

"What?"

Haytham stood beside him, "I thought I'd find you up here."

"Why are you here, Father?" Connor nonchalantly wiped his face with his sleeve and finally raised his head, not looking in Haytham's direction.

Connor's eyes were red. The Lad had been crying, or at least about to. He wouldn't bring it up, "You didn't make it back to the room, I was beginning to worry."

"You? Worry?”

Haytham bit his lip to keep from making some snarky comeback, as much as he might feel inclined to.

“I just... needed some fresh air."

"What troubles you?"

Connor turned to him, finally, opened his mouth to speak but looked away instead.

Haytham felt torn. Torn between dropping the subject and simply leaving, if the boy wanted to be so tight-lipped about it. Or staying, trying to comfort the boy and get him to speak his mind. He didn't have much experience in the comfort department, and that made this whole ordeal that much more awkward for him, but dammit this was his son. If they were going to have any sort of relationship together, he needed to be there for him.

"You can talk to me, Son. I'm not the best at... this... but I can try. I can be there for you. Or I can leave, if you... prefer."

Connor sighed, "No... I just..." he met his father's eyes and spoke, quite lowly, "I miss Mom. Sometimes so much it physically hurts and I do not know what to do."

That pain he was actually far too familiar with.

Haytham heaved a sigh and folded his arms atop the railing, "I have struggled with the same dilemma for 24 years."

"How do you deal with it?"

"I don't. I do what I must, but I never move on."

Connor's shoulders sagged and he turned to look out on the water.

"Your mother loved you, Connor," When a hand covered his, he turned back to Haytham, "She would be proud of you and wouldn't want you to suffer over her memory. That's more than can be said for me."

Connor scoffed, "She loved you, Father. I could tell by the way she spoke of you, the way her eyes would mist up."

A corner of Haytham's lips twitched, "and I failed her."

"She loved you still."

Haytham's mouth pressed into a line and he averted his gaze. A familiar ache was growing in his chest. Now, this is when he would usually push down the feelings, try to ignore them and do something to distract himself.

Yet now… this pain wasn’t just for Zio and he couldn’t simply leave Connor alone now. He had to fight the urge to disappear and work through this. For Him.

"And you? Would you forgive me for failing you?"

"You did not-"

"I did. I... wasn't there while you were growing up. I was not there to... save your mother. The first thing I did upon meeting you was attempt to kill you!" If only he'd known he had a son. That Zio was pregnant. Everything would be different!

If he had known, he could’ve fought for her trust, to let him stay. He could’ve left the Order for her, to help raise their son… he could’ve saved her from the attack on the village! The truth of all these things set in like needles, and he had to remind himself to breathe evenly, to maintain control. Especially in front of his son.

"None of it was your fault."

His throat was dry and tight. It was strange to hear such sentiments from the Assassin who destroyed his order. Hell, the whole situation was strange, trying to comfort this boy, his son, his... what were they now?

"I want you to know if i could go back and change things, I would. I would've been a better father, I could-"

"Stop."

Haytham forced himself to look at Connor. He couldn’t help but notice the similarities between the boy and Zio. This boy… the person he was supposed to be... an Assassin to follow in his father's footsteps, to fight for the good of the people no matter the cost. Instead he’d become a cold, killing machine, trying to justify his actions with the Templar’s cause. Now he didn’t feel so different from those who’d used the order to simply gain power.

"Connor. I wasn't there for either of you. I failed you both. There's no way to ever fix that, to bring her back, but... I will try to do right. I will... learn how to be there for you."

The boy fidgeted and eyed his father, "and you say _I_ am the sentimental one."

Haytham sighed, "I just had to get it off my chest. Take it while you can."

Connor smirked, and neither said anything more, content with silent companionship as they watched waves lap against the ship. Even with their failures, the future didn’t seem near as bleak as it once had.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rogue spoilers abound.* Also, there's been a change from Forsaken's canon.
> 
> Once again I want to thank everyone who's been following/reading and giving kudos/comments on this :) you all inspire me so much and everything you do means a lot to me!

***12 days later***

  
Connor woke much earlier than usual, only to find he was alone. He considered returning to his slumber, but curiosity soon got the better of him. Where had his father gone off to so early? He dressed himself and made his way above deck.

The first hints of sunlight peeked over the horizon, the sky a thousand different shades of orange and pink. Whispering met Connor’s ears and he stilled, taking cover behind the mast. Thankfully, neither Shay nor Haytham had noticed the boy and their conversation continued uninterrupted. If he focused, Connor could pick out some of what they were saying.

“…was training him apparently.”

“Achilles? He had the guts to start mentoring again, even after you-?”

“He’s dead now. Connor was the only one, I’m to believe.”

Connor’s eyebrows furrowed. How did Shay know Achilles? All this time had passed and still he knew so little of the Templar he was expected to trust. Now, he figured, was as good a time as ever for answers.

He crept out from his hiding place and made his way up the stairs, “How do you know Achilles?” Shay scowled, but didn’t turn away from the wheel, “You really shouldn’t eavesdrop on your superiors.”

“You should not keep secrets from your ‘allies’.” Connor’s gaze briefly shot Haytham’s way.

His father tensed, jaw clenched, “What is this about, Boy?”

“You two whisper and have your secrets, even when we work together. I do not even know you, Shay and yet you have Haytham’s complete trust. I want answers. Starting with how you know Achilles.”

Shay turned to Haytham, who gave him a cold, hard stare in response. Even without words, Shay knew what the man was thinking… and decided to ignore him.

“A long time ago the man was my own mentor. I was like you, a blind and naïve Assassin. Until I was shown the right path.”

Shay? An Assassin turned Templar? Why had Achilles never mentioned him, in all his years of training?

“You are a hypocrite! A traitor! Siding with the Templars against Achilles?”

Shay fumed, “Achilles was more of a traitor than I was. He decimated the creed, he took it upon himself to kill thousands upon thousands of innocent people! That man was a ruthless bastard.”

“Achilles never hurt anyone that did not deserve it. What he did was for the colonies, for-“

“Tell that to the all people who died in Lisbon! You didn’t know Achilles before the Revolution! Before that, he was… I had to stop him. I joined the Templars for revenge of their slaughter.“

“Shay.” Haytham cut in, eyeing the Templar.

“No. Haytham, he’s right. He should know. He should know what his colleagues have done.” Shay turned back to Connor, “The Assassins would see the world destroyed. Haven’t you ever wondered why none remained? Only that bastard Achilles?”

As a matter of fact, Connor did wonder. Quite often. Whenever he brought up the subject, Achilles was ever avoidant.

“Shay this is not-“

“Father, please. I want to know.”

Haytham sighed, saying no more. He mentally braced himself for the storm that would undoubtedly follow. If things got physical... well, he’d do nothing for it. It was still so early in the morning and yet both men had already managed to get on his nerves. Maybe a good brawl would settle their issues.

Connor turned back to Shay, “What did you do?”

“We had to kill them. The Assassins. They left us no choice.”

“We?”

Shay nodded towards Haytham, “Grand Master oversaw the whole thing.”

Connor bared his teeth, "Why didn't you tell me."

Haytham sighed, "Because I knew you'd react brashly."

Connor took a moment to really let all the new information sink in. Could this be true? The Achilles he knew was out to protect the people in the colonies. Even if it was true what the man did… not all the Assassins had to die! These were men and women fighting for liberty! None of this made any sense.

He rounded on shay, "You say you joined the Templars to take revenge on the slaughter of innocents. What about the Assassins you killed? All they wanted was peace, freedom, equality!"

"Those Assassins were power hungry and sought control. They were manipulative and sure as hell far from innocent."

Connor's fists clenched at his sides.

Haytham added, "There was reason for their deaths, Boy."

Connor scoffed, "of course, and that reason was YOU wanted control. The Assassins were a hindrance to your plans. That is how it always is with the Templars."

Haytham opened his mouth to speak, but Connor raised a hand to silence him, "No. No more lies and withheld information. I am done."

Before Haytham could a get word in, the boy rushed away, leaving Haytham and his former student behind on deck. All this time and the boy was still so oblivious!

In the boy's absence, it was Haytham’s turn to round on Shay, "Are you quite pleased with yourself?"

Shay smirked, "If you mean to ask if I regret what I said, I don't. I couldn't care less about that boy and his 'feelings'. Even when presented with the truth, he remains loyal to the Assassins! He can’t be redeemed, we should deal with him while we’ve got the upper hand."

"Are you threatening my son again?"

Shay glared at Haytham, unyielding in what used to be an intimidating scowl, "Just because he is your spawn doesn’t make him perfect, Haytham. He is nothing but a waste of time and effort, unyielding in his naivety and ignorance."

"Connor is naive. He is stubborn. He is many things, but a waste is not one of them. I hope you're happy with what you've done."

An eyebrow rose.

Haytham continued, voice almost a growl, "That Assassin saved my life. That Assassin is the only reason I keep fighting. He is not like the Assassins were from your time. He is my only source of happiness.Everyone I have ever cared about has been snatched away from me... except him. But now you've just about wrenched that from me. The boy will likely never forgive me for this."

Shay said nothing, jaw clenched as he re-took the wheel. Haytham began to walk away, but paused to add, "The Assassins branded you a traitor; I see now they were right. Yet never had I believed you would break your promise and betray me."

\---  
The ex-Templar Grand Master waited in their shared quarters, attempting to read a book. There was little use in trying to find the boy now, lest another argument ensue. It was best to wait for Connor to return on his own terms. Which he would. Eventually.

There was nowhere else for Connor to go after all. This ship was full of Templars and they were currently in the middle of the Atlantic ocean with no land in sight. Regardless of what had transpired that morning, Haytham was still the one he trusted most from this lot.

From time to time his thoughts would return to Shay. It was odd; he’d seen a distinct change in the man since all those years ago. Or was it Haytham that had changed? Had he simply gotten too soft? He laughed to himself. No wonder he’d been exiled; the Templar Grand Master was now defending his son... the Assassin who destroyed his order. Maybe Shay was right. Maybe they should be rid of him.

Right or not, Haytham would not allow it. He’d come to understand the boy more and the boy had proven to much more noble in his cause than the colonial Templars had been by far. Shay would come around. He would learn, as Haytham had, that not all the Assassins were evil. Many of the Templars themselves weren’t all that honorable either; Charles and Reginald were perfect examples.

It was well into the afternoon before Connor showed up, trying to sneak into the room quietly. A wooden plank creaked under his weight and he winced. Haytham, sitting at a desk, didn't look in his direction, only continued to read.

"So you finally decided to show up."

"I... spent some time alone to calm down."

"Oh? And how are you now?"

Connor sat on the bed and kicked off his boots, staring at the floor, "I am left with more questions than answers. Now I am… not so sure… about everything. "

Haytham nodded, more to the wall than to Connor, "I suppose that was to be expected. Especially when one is faced with the truth of his own order after so many years in the dark." He couldn’t help but think yet again of Reginald and Edward’s journal. Of course he also couldn’t forget Jennifer’s own reaction when she found out Haytham’s allegiance to the Templars.

He abruptly shut whatever book he'd been reading and pushed it aside. Only now did he turn to look at his son, "Still, that was stupid of you to fight with Shay."

Connor glared, "I do not need a lecture, Father.”

"The bloody hell you don't! We need him, Connor. We need his ship. Since you got the Aquila destroyed, we have no other choice! Picking fights with him will get you killed and then how will you stop Charles?"

"I just wanted answers. It seems the only way I ever get them with you two is through argument!" Connor's fists clenched the bed sheets, and he forced himself to breath. He’d spent the whole morning calming himself down and now he was riled up all over again.

“Did you find out what you wanted to know, boy? Did you get your answers, ease your mind, all that rubbish?”

“No… Father… I have trusted you with everything. Why do you continue to withhold information?”

Haytham sighed, “I knew you would anguish over what happened. You needn’t any more on your mind as it is, you’re already too stressed out.”

“Is it true… what Shay said… about Achilles?”

Haytham paused for a moment in thought. Hell, the boy already knew the gist of what happened, he might as well know what it was all for. Maybe then he’d actually be a little more understanding.

“Unfortunately. Back in that time, the Assassins were after a certain precursor box. A map of sorts, to temples around the world. Messing with one would cause an earthquake.”

“And… this happened in Lisbon?” Connor was finally beginning to put the pieces together.

“Yes. Achilles sent Shay to the Temple and the destruction that followed forever changed the course of history. It was the reason Shay became a Templar and why any Assassin that aided Achilles’ plan was killed.” Haytham took a seat beside his son on the bed. He was quick to add, “Nobody was killed that wasn’t connected. I assure you. We only wished to stop the Assassins from harming more innocent people.”

“This box... where is it now?”

“Hidden. Took Shay many years to find it for me, but now it’s in a safe location where no one shall find it for at least a hundred years. Especially not Charles or Reginald.”

Reginald. Another name Connor often heard but knew little about. Only that the man aided in his grandfather’s murder and was a Templar Grand Master obsessed with the precursor race. Haytham‘s mentor.

There was a brief silence between the two men before Connor asked, “Why did you continue to work for Reginald even when you knew what he did?”

Haytham sighed, fidgeting, “After I found out what he’d done, I… My sister, Holden and I attacked him at his chateau in hopes of killing him. We failed, obviously. He… he killed Holden and Jennifer. I was given a choice; either be killed as well or continue to serve him. I thought maybe I could fix the Order of his corruption and awaited the chance to take my revenge... but it always eluded me.”

Connor, unsure of what he could say or do to comfort the older man, awkwardly wrapped his arms around him. A hug. He was unfamiliar with the embrace, but he had seen the couples on the homestead participate in it countless times, especially in times of need.

He found he didn’t hate it as much as he thought he would. Haytham didn‘t seem to mind either, and after a moment actually wrapped his arms around his son to return the gesture.

“We will end them, Father. He and Charles Lee both.”

Haytham smirked, but it was a malicious smirk, “If I do nothing else, seeing that they meet their ends is my final mission.”

Connor pulled back to meet Haytham’s gaze, “And after that? When this is all over, what will you do?”

Connor himself had pondered this often. Surely the man would want to reclaim his place as Templar Grand Master, and Connor would return to his mentor duties at the homestead. The homestead... he felt slightly uneasy at the thought of Achilles. How could he kill all those people? Since then and when Connor found him... what had changed? It didn’t really matter in the end. Achilles was dead and Connor took his place as mentor for the Assassin brotherhood.

So what would become of the relationship he’d carefully sculpted with his father? Would they continue to work together? Would they both simply move on, become enemies once more and forget about what they’d shared? Connor’s chest felt tight. He didn’t want to lose his father, not now. If that was their fate, he partly wished this mission would never end, as selfish as that might sound.

Haytham scoffed, “I’m not even sure I’ll be alive when this is over.”

The silence that followed was tense and uncomfortable. Connor couldn’t bear to think of being without his father. He’d already gone through that pain after the shipwreck and it was far from pleasant.

He knew... he knew nothing could ever go back to how they were. Even if he and his father did drift apart, if they became enemies once more, even if they were forced to fight for their seperate causes, Connor would never be able to harm him. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

Finally, Haytham’s voice shattered the silence as he reach up to take Connor’s face in his hands, “Enough of this. There is plenty time before we meet land, let’s make the most of it, shall we?”

Connor didn’t get the chance to answer for he was pulled into a fervent kiss.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the delay, this week's been pretty shitty and ruined all of my motivation to write. Anyways, here it is now. :)
> 
> Also: There will be mention of a man named Germain, it's a reference to (AC Unity Spoiler) Francois Germain, the Templar Grand Master who was exiled and then became evil and ya know. AC Unity happened. Honestly I think he's my favorite character from Unity. (I must have a thing for bad guys, or just Templar Grand Masters...)
> 
> Aaaanywho, enjoy.

 

**October, 1778  
Douala, Cameroon**

 

“Where have you brought us, Shay?”

“Africa. Douala, to be precise.”

“And this is where we shall find the next artifact?” The ex-Grand Master crossed his arms over the railing, peering out at the town.

“No… and what you’re looking for is called ‘Maya’ I believe. I recall it being in Egypt.”

“How reliable is your memory?”

Shay scowled, “I remember the broken leg those Egyptian Assassins gave me quite clearly.”

Connor smirked to himself. He imagined Shay laying there in the sand, groaning in pain. Of course, this was grossly exaggerated in his mind, to the point he had Shay crying.  Really, he just couldn’t help his distaste for the man, despite how much Haytham might disapprove.

Yet it was more than that. There was a sort of eagerness to see if he might get to meet these Egyptian Assassins. He’d never met a member from their branch before.

“Ah, yes. What a pain in my arse it was retrieving you.”

“I’m sure they’ll be more considerate with your Assassin son around, Sir. Once you’ve got Maya, you’ll have to make your way to Iran. There’s an old castle in South Daylam. Alamut. Connor should be able to find it easy; it belonged to the Assassins’ after all.”

Haytham turned back to shay, brows furrowed, “You won’t accompany us, Shay?”

Shay sighed, “I’ve already gone too long without reporting back to Charles. I wouldn’t want him getting suspicious. I’ve brought you as close to your destination as I can.”

A moment passed in silence before Haytham began again, "It’s my hope, Shay, that what has transpired has not muddled our friendship. You were my finest student after all and you are still very... dear to me."

Connor frowned. What the hell made this Shay so special that Haytham would openly praise him, and yet he, the man’s own _son_ , had to work for anything more than arguing or snide comments. Hand jobs and blowjobs aside; this was about appreciation only, not relationship-wise. Unless of course Haytham and Shay…

Connor muttered and shook his head, quickly dismissing that train of thought.

Shay smiled, "Thank you, Sir. You were the finest Templar Grand Master there ever was."

“There wasn't much competition." Haytham scoffed.

"No? What about Charles Lee and Reginald? And you _can’t_ forget about Germain!"

"They only serve to prove my point!"

Shay laughed, "But I mean it, Sir."

Haytham shook his head before making his way onto shore. Connor quickly made to follow.

"Wait, Connor."

The Assassin froze. What did Shay want to insult him for _now_? He just really wanted to avoid another argument…

"I wanted to apologize, Connor."

Connor's eyebrows furrowed and he turned to gaze questioningly at the Templar captain.

"The creed's intention is noble. I realized when I was an Assassin, that sometimes people's actions aren't as honorable as their words. Both of the orders are wrought with corruption... even if they are based on noble goals."

"Why are you telling me this?"

Shay gave him a smile for the first time in their ‘alliance’, "We misjudged each other based on the actions of the orders. Me and you... we're not so different. You've reminded me of a lot of important lessons I’ve forgotten. I just want you to know I'm your ally and you're friend."

Connor was torn by his words. They seemed genuine enough. And if he could consider Haytham a worthy ally, even as the Templar Grand Master... he supposed he could trust Shay as well, jealousy issues aside. It would take effort and time, yes, but he could learn to trust Shay.

He nodded, "Thank you."

As he stepped off the Morrigan and joined Haytham on shore, Connor couldn’t help but feel as though he were leaving something important behind. His father had the artifact, they had all their belongings… perhaps it was something more abstract.

Before taking his place at the wheel, Shay leaned over the rail and shouted, "I'll help you as best I can, leading Charles away from you. And Connor; as soon as I've got some free time, I'll see to it your crew is taken care of! But uh… be careful, Connor. The people around here aren’t all that kindly to uh… natives."

“I can take care of myself.”

Shay nodded, “I know. Take care of your old man too for me, Aye?”

Haytham scowled, " _Good luck_ , Shay!"

"How many times do I have to tell you; I make. My. Own. Damn. Luck!"

 

\----  
Doula was… busy. The air was filled with shouting and people huddled together, speaking in hushed tones. As Haytham and Connor made their way inland, things started to get… weird.

People turned and stared intently at Connor as he passed by, making him uneasy.

Eventually, they came to realize why.

A line of dark-skinned men, chained together, were led towards the coast by a wealthy-looking foreigner. Most of these shackled men were scarily thin and adorned with scars both old and fresh.

Connor tensed, fists clenched. These were slaves. He had to stop them!

He immediately started towards the slaver. Haytham didn’t catch the boy in time, the slaver had already noticed and turned towards the Assassin, whip in hand. Connor underestimated the slaver’s strength and quickly found himself at the man’s mercy, hands twisted painfully behind his back.

“What a strong, healthy young man. I’m gonna make so much off you, Boy.”

The slaver froze as Haytham withdrew his pistol, aiming it at the man’s head, “Unhand him.”

For the longest moment they simply glared at one another before the slaver shoved Connor forward, mumbling as he returned to his task.

Haytham roughly grabbed Connor by the arm and led him away.

“You can’t do that, Connor.”  
“Those men were treated like livestock! They-“  
“Listen, Boy.” Haytham halted and spun Connor around to look at him, “I know you want to save them. But you’re one man against thousands of others. This is a fight for another day, Connor. How can we stop Lee when you’re stuck on some plantation picking cotton?”

“But…”

Haytham reached up to take Connor’s face in his hands, “But _nothing_. Don’t ruin this. Don’t make me lose you. Promise me you won’t go after them.”

Connor’s brought his hands up to cover his father’s.

“Fine.”

Haytham sighed, “Good. We have a long ways to go before we reach Egypt, I suggest we get going.” He turned away, his hands dropping back to his sides. Connor nodded and followed quietly, doing his best to block out thoughts of the slaves.

 

Traveling through Africa was a harrowing task for the pair, more so perhaps for Connor who constantly found himself at the end of inquiring gazes. He was forced to keep quiet, gaze low as he followed his father, hoping he could pass as the man’s slave and avoid further trouble.

Which, despite the circumstances, was a _little_ amusing to Haytham. To Connor’s disdain, Haytham never missed the opportunity to order the boy around. The only reason he obeyed was to alleviate suspicions, but oh would the man pay later on, he assured himself.

In just over two weeks, they’d managed to reach the Bamenda lake, having passed through Yabassi and Mafang. This is where they now stopped to make camp for the night, finding it’s isolation a nice break from the cities.

They sat around a small fire, cooking a hare Connor had managed to hunt down earlier that same day. The pair ate in silence, until Haytham sighed, tossing the bones of his share into the bushes and standing. Connor watched him curiously, still chewing contently.

Until Haytham began peeling off his own clothing, to which Connor felt he should look away but honestly could not fight the urge. He let his gaze run across his father’s bare body.

“What are you doing?” he said finally, as Haytham tugged off his breeches.

“Washing my clothes. They smell even worse than you do.”

The native’s brows furrowed as he discreetly rose an arm to smell himself when the older man turned away, carrying his clothes to the lake. He didn’t smell THAT bad, did he? Either way, perhaps he _was_ due for a good washing…

So he followed his father’s example, quickly shrugging out of his clothes and running after the man.

Once all the clothes were hung to dry, Haytham grabbed Connor by the arm, pulling him back into the lake where he set to washing the Assassin’s matted hair. There was no complaint to be heard from the younger man.

It was refreshing to be clean again and so far away from the eyes of men eager to put him to their use. Their attentions constantly had him under anxiety, but now it seemed to melt away under Haytham’s care. Yet still… something nagged at him.

“What did Shay mean when he said he would ‘take care of my crew’?”

“I’d assume just what he said. He’ll probably return to St. Lucia and supply them with finances for a new ship. Don’t tell me you thought he’d mean to kill them.”

Connor frowned, “But he is a Templar. They are Assassins.”

“Shay’s as benevolent as you are, Connor. Besides, were you not the one constantly arguing for unity between the two orders?”

Connor said nothing further.

Haytham smirked and spun the boy around, “Don’t look so gloomy. You’re getting what you wanted, are you not?”

Once again Connor’s gaze roamed along the contours of Haytham’s body, bare and wet under the moonlight. They had not done anything further than making out and simple hand jobs for quite some time. Now they had some time to be completely alone…

“Not quite.” Connor finally replied, stepping closer to his father to plant a kiss on his lips, hands roaming.

“Oh? What _else_ did you want?”

The Assassin felt his cheeks warm as he said, “You.”

Haytham found himself pulled into a rather desperate kiss. One which grew only hungrier, fueling a fire within both of their bodies. It went unbroken until they were forced to separate for breath and Connor pressed against the older man, panting.

The ex-Templar reached between them and took Connor’s erection in hand, beginning to pump with a practiced ease that immediately had Connor moaning into his ear.

Connor didn’t allow it to last much longer, instead pushing Haytham away with the last shreds of his self-control.

“What is it?” Haytham whispered between pants, concerned he had done something wrong or somehow disgusted the boy. His fear was short-lived.

“I… I... want you to… _us_ to…” now Connor was forced to avert his gaze, entire face flushed red. He could only hope Haytham would get the hint lest he have to voice his intentions.

It took a moment for Haytham to realize what the lad was attempting to say, but once he did, it went straight to his cock. He gently pulled the boy in for another kiss, “Are you sure?”

Connor nodded and allowed Haytham to lead him back to their tent onshore.

“A proper bed would be more suitable. Especially for your first time, but-“  
“I do not care.” Connor whined, pulling Haytham to the ground into a tangle of limbs with yet another kiss. Hands roamed more freely now until finally Haytham could bear no more.

He fought to separate himself from their kiss, laying Connor down before him.

“I’m going to… _prepare_ you. It’ll feel odd at first, but any unease should pass quickly enough.”

Connor nodded, not quite sure to expect. Even with how many times they had seen one another naked, how many times they had touched and caressed one another’s bodies… he still felt uneasy. Hand jobs and blow jobs were one matter… this was something else entirely. He supposed, after everything, Haytham had become the _one_ person in the world Connor could trust, even with this.

An eyebrow rose as Haytham took out a small vial of liquid from their belongings.

He uncapped it, using the liquid to slick two of his fingers, “I uh… bought this in St Lucia. Just in case. You don’t want to go through this without it.”

Then those two fingers were pressed gently against Connor’s entrance.

Connor immediately tensed, suddenly not so sure about his choice, but saying nothing.

“Relax.” Haytham cooed, gently rubbing Connor’s hole before inserting the first finger slowly.

Now, it wasn’t painful per say, not yet, it was just… very unusual. Undoubtedly that would change, though. A dick was a lot bigger than a finger after all. In all honesty, Connor was regretting his agreement. How could anyone find pleasure in this?

Without warning the second finger joined the first, and with it came the first twinges of pain. Connor opened his mouth to protest but… what came out instead was a pleasured moan. Haytham’s fingers had brushed something inside that sent waves of pleasure all through his body.

“There… Father…”

Haytham smirked, curling and scissoring his fingers, continuously brushing that utterly sweet spot until Connor was a shuddering, moaning mess underneath him.

Connor fought the urge to whimper as the fingers were thus removed.

Haytham coated his dick with more of the lube before he readjusted, wrapping Connor’s legs around his waist and aligning himself.

He entered slowly, pausing halfway in to let Connor adjust to the intrusion. It hurt, it hurt like _hell,_ but finally it did pass. He nodded to his father, who only a moment later was fully sheathed inside the Assassin.  He set to stroking the boy until he was relaxed once again, erection throbbing.

Haytham set a slow, measured pace, fighting the urge to cut the niceties and mercilessly fuck his son until he couldn’t even remember his own name. Connor’s pain would fade once again, replaced by pleasure. He swallowed thickly, stubbornly holding back moans.

Oh no. That would not do. Haytham would _not_ allow him to mask those delicious noises. He grabbed the boy’s hips, holding him steady as he thrusted faster and harder, each time hitting the spot within Connor that made him moan in ecstasy.

Panting and groaning, Haytham watched the oh-so-renowned Assassin unravel underneath him. All the moans, whimpers, groans of pleasure were all so overwhelming, sending sparks of electricity through his veins.

Connor was bombarded with wave after wave of pleasure. His hands clenched the blankets, toes curling, and he threw his head back, loudly moaning his father’s name as he finally came all over himself.

As the boy arched and let his father’s name roll off his tongue so obscenely, Haytham completely lost control, spilling his seed inside his son with a low groan.

They came down from their high slowly, Haytham removing himself from his son and lying down beside him. He made to wrap an arm around the boy and pull him closer, but thought better of it.

Connor sighed, “Back to the lake then, to wash up?”

“Please. And then we can ‘cuddle’ properly.”


	18. chapter 18

**November, 1778**

**Egypt**

The Egyptians were a far more preferable crowd than those of Douala, with no slave caravans to be seen. Nobody watched the newcomers with curious, analyzing eyes. Yet investigations for the artifact turned up nothing.

They conceded eventually, that perhaps the best way to go about this was to contact the Egyptian Assassins. More than likely, they either had the artifact in their possession, or at least had a clue as to its location. The catch was; how were they going to find the Assassins?

 

Well, just a few days after their arrival in Asyut they finally caught their break.

They’d been resting in the shadows of a building, arguing about where to head next when a group of oddly dressed men made themselves known, shouting and questioning the Egyptians. Curiously, the pair watched the scene unfold before them into something ugly.

These men asked the same questions they had just asked, receiving the same empty answers. Infuriated, the leader of this group grabbed the closest man by his shirt and punched him in the face. Everyone nearby quietly distanced themselves from the raging man currently beating on the defenseless Egyptian man, drenching the sand and his clothes with dark blood.

There was no doubt that these men were Templars sent to obtain the same artifact they now searched for. But damn it all, these Egyptians didn’t need this harsh treatment for their ignorance to this petty race of time!

Haytham was not at all surprised when his son leapt out of the shadows, grabbed the leading Templar by the scruff of his neck and beat him mercilessly. The previously bored guards at the man’s side now withdrew their swords and surrounded the fiery Assassin, each waiting for the other to strike the violent Assassin first.

Sighing, Haytham withdrew his pistol and sent a bullet through the Templar closest to his son. The other two jumped and for a moment stood in their confusion, gazes flickering between the two attackers as they tried to decide on the best course of action. They separated, one going for Haytham and the other for Connor.

Connor dropped the now lifeless body into sand, the Templar’s face swollen and bloodied beyond recognition. The Assassin felt no remorse, wiping the blood from his chin with his sleeve and turning towards the next attacker, withdrawing his hidden blades. Onlookers watched the ordeal in both horror and fascination.

Moments later, each of the Templars lay dead in the sand. The Assassin and ex-Grand Master exchanged nods, wiping off their blades before withdrawing them.

“You have them too?” A voice piped up from the crowd.

They turned towards the voice and a man stepped forth. He was an ordinary-looking man, but his eyes glimmered with intrigue. A flick of his wrist and a hidden blade sprang forth.

Eagle vision proved this man an ally. An Assassin, even.

Connor nodded, “You are a-“

“Yes. I have been following those Templars for a while now, trying to find out what it is they wanted.  You two seem like you know. Perhaps you care to join me back the bureau to speak with the Mentor?”

 

They were given fresh fruit, meat, and water when they made it to the bureau. The bureau was underground, a series of tunnels and hidden chambers. Never before had Connor seen so much fancy furniture in one place.

Quite some time had passed before the Mentor showed up, silently opening the door and walking in with his chin held high. Haytham fidgeted uncomfortably as he realized he recognized the man. He’d had a-less-than pleasant run in with him some 20 years previous.

The mentor seemed to notice his unease, sharp gaze settling on him like a hawk on its prey.

“You are the Mentor?” Connor asked, attempting the break the awkwardness of the silence.

The man tore his gaze away from Haytham to Connor, “Amon-ra. And you are?”

“Connor. Mentor of the Colonial brotherhood.”

Amon-ra ignored the ex-Templar, “What brings you so far from home?”

“The Templars mean to gather certain precursor artifacts and enslave humanity.”

Amon-ra scoffed and finally turned to Haytham, “Was my warning last time not enough for you, Grand Master? You know I’m capable of much more than a broken leg.”

“He is no longer a Templar, Amon-ra.” Connor cut in quickly.  
Haytham sighed heavily, “We’re here to collect these artifacts before the Templars do in order to stop them.”

Amon-ra crossed his arms, still glaring accusingly at Haytham, “Is that so? And what will you do if you get these artifacts?”  
“Use them to stop Cha-… the Templars. Will you help us or not?”

The room was silent and tense for a few moments before the Egyptian laughed, calling over a strange, frail woman. He whispered in her ear, mouth covered.

It was to both Connor and Haytham’s shock when she bowed and said, “Yes, Master.” She scurried off to the outside without sparing so much as a glance at the visitors.

“’Master’?”

Amon-ra nodded, “You’re not familiar with our customs? She is my volunteered slave. Many of the Assassins here are.”

Haytham’s eyes narrowed at the man, “To work off what debt?’

“Well. Saving them from the Templars, slave caravans, and the such.”

Connor’s entire body went rigid. This man was despicable. Going against the very core of the Assassins’ goals… he was overwhelmed by the urge to attack this man, to put an end to him. He knew if he was forced to stay much longer, it would not end well for either of them. Despicable or not, Amon-ra was a Master Assassin after all, and wielded the skill and experience expected of one.

“The artifact. Will you help us find it?” Connor stated, struggling to keep his temper in check.

“The artifact is safer with us than the two of you. I trust neither of you. You can ask your uh… _friend_ here about what should happen lest I see the likes of you again. Now… leave us.”

 

“Now you see what I’ve been trying to show you, Boy?” Haytham blurted out as they made their leave, flinching at how bright sunlight was compared to the candle-lit underground bureau.

Connor frowned and said nothing. There was no snarky reply or comeback he could use this time.

 

Long ago, during the alliance with his father on the hunt for Ben Church, though Connor couldn’t pinpoint _when_ exactly, Haytham had carefully planted the seed of doubt in Connor’s mind. Doubt of the Assassins, of the creed, of everything he’d ever known. Now, with all Shay had revealed about Achilles and that mysterious box, mixed with their meeting with Amon-ra, that seed had gradually grown into a vine. A vine that twisted around Connor’s heart and squeezed.

Haytham and Shay were right.

Only now did Connor quit fighting it; letting the truth sink in, making him slightly nauseous. The brotherhood he had so blindly followed and dedicated his life to, was not that noble after all. It had its share of corruption and greed just like the Templars did.

Connor sighed and looked over his father, sleeping beside him soundly. Sleep refused to come for Connor, silently seething as his anger grew.

Amon-ra had the artifact, of this, Connor was sure. If he wouldn’t give it up for the greater good of the world then, Connor would just have to get it another way. And if the Assassins caught him? His heart caught in his throat. He’d just have to figure that out once it happened.

Before he could change his mind, he slipped quietly back into his clothes and departed the inn, retracing their steps from that underground bureau.

Entrance was easy enough; the hidden blade unlocked the doors. A couple of Assassins sat around, reading old, decaying books in the light of a candle. Connor quickly slipped passed them, using eagle vision too guide his way through the tunnels.

After many turns and far-too-close encounters with Assassins passing through the halls, Connor found an out of place candleholder glowing white. Just like the one at the homestead leading to the basement…

The handle was cold against his skin as he wrapped a hand around it and pulled downward.

As expected, the sound of a door swinging open met Connor’s ears. After a moment of looking around the room, he found the hidden door, obscured by a bookcase. He put all his weight against it, wincing inwardly when it emitted a loud, scratching sound as it slid across the floor. Much too loud.

The door had opened to reveal a set of stairs leading further underground. He hurriedly followed them, barging through a final door.

Connor found himself in a large room, full of shelves, cases and chests. A sweep of the room with Eagle Vision aided his search; the artifact was stashed in a chest at the back of the room. He unlocked the chest with his blade and lifted the lid.

The Maya was metallic, just like the other artifacts, but was triangular with a circular indentation in its center. Just big enough to fit the Belial in…

A door slammed shut behind him and in one swift movement, he’d shoved the artifact in a coat pocket and spun around, hidden blade withdrawn. Amon-ra faced him, brows furrowed and eyes intensely locked into Connor’s.

“I expected the Templar Grand Master. Not you.”

“Despite what he was, he is still more honorable than you.”  
“Is that so?”

“You are a disgrace to the brotherhood. You go against the creed and everything we work for. Why?”

Amon-ra withdrew his sword slowly and Connor did the same, “You misjudge me. Slavery is imbedded into our culture. The Assassins know what they’re fighting for. Besides, why not put them to better use aiding me rather than picking tobacco in the colonies?”

Connor snarled, baring his teeth like a rapid dog, “That is no excuse! Everyone deserves freedom, the right to _choose_ to fight. Not a choice between two forms of slavery! Slavery by whip, money or blackmail… it is all the same.”

“You’re so blind, Child. There’s no hope for you. Give me back what’s mine and perhaps I’ll spare your life and put you to use.”

Connor growled and lunged forward.

The next few minutes were a blur, the clashing of metal against metal, the occasional punch and swipe of a blade through flesh. Amon-ra was perhaps the most challenging of opponents yet. He left very few openings, blocked every one of Connor’s attacks and easily anticipated the boy’s next move.

Both retreated to opposite sides of the room momentarily, panting hard and sweaty.

Amon-ra laughed and spit at Connor’s feet, “For a child, you fight quite well.”  
“My mentor was an honorable man.”

“Achilles? How is that man honorable? Are you aware of the lives lost because of _his_ actions?”

Connor ground his teeth, “At least Achilles saw the error of his way. He redeemed himself through _me_.”

The boy threw himself forward again, throwing down the sword in one fell swoop, aimed for Amon-ra’s face. The man would’ve been killed instantly had he not managed to block at the last moment.

Connor attacked, again and again, leaving no opening for Amon-ra to counter, “He risked his life, refusing to be beaten down by his enemies, because he _knew_ it was the right thing to do. For every life lost in those earthquakes, he saved another in the _colonies_.”

Amon-ra was forced back against the wall by now, barely holding his own against the Native American. If Connor’s words had struck anything within him, he didn’t show it.

A few well-timed strikes later, Connor had his sword lodged through Amon-ra’s chest. With a pained gasp, Amon-ra dropped his own sword, clutching the wound. He slowly slipped downward, until Connor caught him and gently laid him on the stone floor.

His body trembled, blood seeping over the floor. Amon-ra rose an arm and weakly clutched Connor’s arm, “If what you say… is true… it doesn’t change… anything.”

“Things _will_ change. They have already set in motion.”

“You mean… when the Templars take over… the world?” Amon-ra weakly smirked before coughing up a bit of blood.

“It will not happen. My father and I will see to that.”

“I hope… you’re right… Child.”

Amon-ra stilled, his hand falling to his side. Connor sighed, his chest tight as he reached over to close the man’s eyes. He carefully retrieved his sword and sheathed it before lifting Amon-ra’s body and carrying it up the stairs bridal-style. All the while, Connor seemed to be in some kind of trance, feeling as though he were walking through water.

The Assassins occupying the bureau gasped at the sight of their mentor. Connor laid him down before them, “Amon-ra is dead. You are free. Just… give him a proper burial before you go home.”

The Assassins nodded, glancing at one another in both confusion and wonder. Connor was still stuck in his trance as he exited the bureau and slowly made way back to the inn. The night air was chilly, the moon brilliant and full, but Connor noticed none of it, too far lost in his thoughts.

He’d killed an _Assassin_ … a _Master_ Assassin. Not only this, but he had just stolen from their bureau what was perhaps there most treasured keep. How could he even show his face to the other Assassins now with what he’d done?

Haytham was still asleep when he returned to the inn. Numbly, he slipped into bed beside him and shook him awake.

The man groaned and muttered something obscene, swatting at the hand upon his shoulder.

“Father. I have the artifact.”

That did the trick; Haytham’s eyes snapped open. Quickly, he sat upright, “What? How did you manage?”

Connor took out the Maya, holding it up for Haytham to see before placing it in his open hand, “Amon-ra is… dead.”

Haytham eyed Connor wearily, “What d-“

“I had no other choice.” This was when the reality of it really sank in. Connor was overcome with guilt and regret. How could he betray his own brotherhood? There could’ve been another way… one that didn’t end in death! He was nothing but a traitor now…

Haytham was silent a moment, watching Connor’s expression turn uncharacteristically dark. He set the artifact on the bedside table and awkwardly put a hand on the boy’s shoulder, “You did what you had to. You freed the slaves and obtained the artifact. Amon-ra was a deplorable man anyways, even to the brotherhood’s standards.”

Connor glared at him before sighing, “Still, that does not make it easier.”

“You’ve killed many men just like him. Is it his death that upsets you so or the fact that an _Assassin_ could be so wretched?”

The Assassin closed his eyes, brows furrowed, “You and Shay were right. There is corruption in every order, but…” he reopened his eyes, catching his father’s gaze, “That does not mean peace and unity are not possible. I still have hope.”

Despite himself, a small smile played at the corners of Haytham’s lips, earning a questioning gaze from the Assassin beside him. He let out a soft sigh, “I won’t pretend to share your belief, however… you have done things said to be impossible before. I’d like to hope this will be another one of those instances.”

“So… you believe in me?”

Connor smirked at the light blush to Haytham’s cheeks as he sputtered, “I was merely stating a fact.” The Assassin rolled his eyes and said nothing further, content to have flustered the man so.

Haytham finally spoke again, but refused to look over at the boy, “I am… proud of you though. In a way.”

He could feel the boy’s eyes focused on him and shifted uncomfortably. Connor smiled weakly to himself, chest filled with a new kind of warmth that helped ease the guilt of Amon-ra’s murder and all else that had transpired.

“Thank you… Father.”

Haytham nodded, “We shall depart once the sun has risen. You should get some rest in the meantime.”

Connor wasn’t about to disagree. He hadn’t slept at all that day, but now after his fight with Amon-ra, his muscles ached and body weighed heavily in his exhaustion. He curled up silently beside his father and was soon fast asleep.

Haytham picked up the artifact from the table, turning it in his hands as he studied the markings on it. Mixed with the telltale precursor etchings were three recognizable rune symbols, though Haytham could not recall what these symbols meant.

He waited for a reaction from the artifact, but even after several minutes of physical contact, nothing seemed to change. The artifact… what had Shay said it was called?

At this question the artifact started to glow in Haytham’s hands and suddenly he was back on the Morrigan with Shay and Connor, looking out over Douala. The feeling was odd, a sensation of being both there and not there at all. He was hit with the strongest waves of deja-vu he’d ever experienced. Still, he had full control of himself, unlike in a true memory, although driven to follow the actions he remembered.

_“And this is where we shall find the next artifact?”  
“No… and what you’re looking for is called ‘Maya’ I believe. I recall it being in Egypt.”_

The vision had been brief, but left Haytham’s head spinning. Maya… the Hindu word for ‘illusion’, he recalled. Then that strange jump into a memory...

Haytham briefly looked over his son, struck with an idea. Would he have enough time before Connor awoke? There was not much else to do anyways, so why not have fun with this, this… portal back into the past?

He turned back to the artifact, closed his eyes and pictured himself all those years ago in the woods, a familiar Mohawk woman at his side.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An alternate-universe within an alternate-universe? :D

After all those years of constant wondering, the sleepless nights, the regret… the time had finally come to end all that. For Haytham to close that chapter of his life and move forward.

At first, the images were blurry, but sharpened, forming solid shapes; a female body, tan skin, dark hair. Suddenly Ziio was sitting beside him instead of Connor, giving him that warm half-smile he’d fallen in love with. They were surrounded by trees, the wilderness of the frontier, no other people to be seen for miles. Only the birds and insects were to be heard.

Just seeing Ziio’s face was enough to overwhelm him with regret. Tears threatened to spill over, but somehow he managed to contain them, to contain himself. This wasn’t really her after all… just an illusion. An illusion constructed by a memory.

Haytham wondered exactly what this artifact, the Maya, was capable of. Just reliving memories? Changing the past? If this was the case, he knew immediately what he was to change.

As suddenly as Ziio had appeared, she vanished once again.

Haytham found himself running, dressed in red, chasing a distinctly familiar face; that of Edward Braddock. In the last crucial seconds, he plunged the blade into the man's heart, ensuring his death, before running into the bushes to hide from the oncoming guards.

At first, there was no change. Not in his heart, not in his mind. Not until the artifact brought him back to his campsite in the woods with Ziio.

Just as before, Charles came into view. The conversation was exactly has Haytham remembered, minus the news of Braddock’s death. As Charles made his leave, Ziio returned, but this time she did not shout or order Haytham to leave. She gave him a small smile and enquired about the contents of the letter, to which led Haytham to bring the woman up-to-par with his past, his childhood.

To Ziio’s encouragement, he soon left to rescue Jennifer from the Ottomans and all the events that followed this incident were the same. Jennifer was freed, Reginald killed and… unfortunately, Holden was still to commit suicide. All was the same, line-for-line up to Haytham’s return to America.

This time, instead of taking up home in Virginia, Haytham promptly abandoned the Templar order and returned to Ziio, who was due for child in a just couple of short months.

Then Haytham was sitting under a tree, a tiny 5-year-old Connor sitting in his lap, smiling up at him. He was telling the boy some wild fantastical story, a highly morphed account from his own childhood, and couldn’t help but laugh at the expressions his son was making. Ziio watched them from afar, leaning against the side of a hut, warm smile on her face.  Life was peaceful. Haytham was… actually _happy_.

He was surrounded by people that genuinely cared about him. He had a family, a wife, a son. A son who, in this reality, this falsified illusion… didn’t despise him for what he was. Here, Connor may have actually _looked up_ to him and admired him.

More memories flashed through Haytham’s mind. The same young, innocent Connor crawling between him and Ziio after a particularly bad nightmare. He saw himself teaching Connor to read. To swim. To climb trees. To fight with a sword, just as his own father had taught him. In so many ways, Connor reminded him of himself. Ever curious and insightful.

Watching the boy grow and learn, slowly becoming a man, filled Haytham with a warm sort of pride. The child was his world, his everything.

Haytham left the village once a week to hunt for food. Yet one day in particular was focused on and made clear to him by the artifact.

At first Haytham didn’t notice the smoke, not until it was thick enough to obscure the sun. He eyed it, following the thick, black trail with his eyes down to its source.

His throat immediately tightened and he dropped all the skins and pelts he’d spent so long collecting, panic tearing through him as he realized that the _village_ was on fire.

Abandoning the labors of the hunt, he sprinted, driven by fear and adrenaline back to the village, straight for his home, his family…

He found Ziio first. She was trapped, lower half of her body crushed under burning wood.  She caught his eye and reached out for him as he ran to her, trying desperately to pry off the planks. It was no use. The rubble was too heavy, the fire spreading much too quickly. The panic was ripping him apart inside, making it impossible to think clearly. All that ran though his mind was; _this is the end._

“Go! Go find Ratonhnhake:ton!” Ziio shouted at him, but he ignored her plight, instead continuing to fight with the rubble.

Haytham’s entire body was shaking. He could recall no other time he was overwhelmed by such fear, such anxiety. Not even on the night of the raid on Queen Anne’s square that ended his father’s life and began Haytham’s new one.

“Cease this nonsense! Let me help you!”  
“Haytham! There is no time! I cannot run anyways, go find our son!”

How could he argue with her? She was right. He could waste his time here and let both of them die… or he could save their child.

After but a moment’s hesitation, he intertwined his fingers with hers, gripping them tightly as he lost control and allowed the tears to slip down his face. They locked gazes, a solemn intensity magnified between them.

Ziio fought her own tears, “I will be at your side. Always and forever. I love you both. Now _go_!”

Even though his entire body was heavy and every fiber of his being screamed to stay and help Ziio, Haytham tore himself from her and forced himself to turn tail and run.

Ziio’s face was ingrained into his memory, eyes wide in pure shock and pain as the fire overtook her. Her screams would haunt him for the rest of his life, coupled by the sharp backlash of guilt for leaving her behind.

Desperately, Haytham searched for his son. Connor hadn't been with his mother, but was trapped between the ruins of two other huts... he was motionless, clothes torn and bloody. Flesh sizzled as Haytham broke through burning wood and collected his son into his arms. Panic and adrenaline masked any physical pain he may have felt, but didn’t ease his emotional anguish.

Haytham didn’t allow himself to stop until he was far from the village and the fire. There he finally collapsed, still holding Connor close against him. He panted, trying to catch his breath.

“Ratonhnhake:ton?”

The boy didn’t respond.

Haytham shook him roughly, “Boy, answer me!”

Still nothing. The boy was lifeless, pulse nonexistent. Haytham hastily set the boy upon the ground and desperately tried to force him to breath, pressing on his sternum. Seconds passed. Minutes. The panic was returning, his pushes becoming more and more erratic.

The boy’s skin was growing paler and colder with every passing moment.

Eventually Haytham’s movements slowed, vision blurry again. He looked down at his son, his little boy, nothing more now than a dead body before him. Forced to give up his rescue attempt, he instead pulled the boy close again, as if holding him so tightly would somehow bring him back.

Nothing would.

His world and happiness were wrenched away from him in a matter of minutes. He felt as though he’d been hollowed, joy replaced by an agony incomparable to any other worldly pain one could endure.

Haytham let go of the boy’s body, gently laying him down again. As Haytham looked over the face of his lifeless son, he was driven back into a deep, dark place within his own mind. A place he was familiar with, a place he’d never be able to dig himself out of again. Never.

~~~

Haytham tossed the artifact across the room with a pained sob and he was ripped out of the illusion, back into reality. So this is what would have happened... a few short years of bliss with his family before it was to be torn away from him...

The pain still felt real, his chest tight and skin tingling where it was burned. He checked; there were no injuries, no burns. Only phantom pains.

In the end, had leaving Ziio been the better option after all? If the price was some years of romance, his loneliness and heartache was a fair trade for his son to at least have the chance to grow, to have a life... despite that life being full of betrayal and loss. It was better than no life at all.

If the price of temporary peacefulness with Ziio was his son's life... he wouldn't change a thing at all, even if actually given the chance.

Haytham turned, watching the steady rise and fall of Connor’s bare chest as he slept, relaxed and peaceful. For a moment, Haytham’s heart actually skipped a beat. That feeling of protectiveness and caring he had fought since the first time he’d seen the boy at the prison, this feeling had grown exponentially. There was no denying it any more.

As the pain slowly faded, Haytham’s heartbeat returning to normal and breaths coming evenly again, he lie down, snaking an arm around his son and pulling the boy as close to himself as possible.

The boy stirred, mumbling something unintelligible before he rolled over, unconsciously burying his face in the crook of Haytham's neck. The hint of a genuine smile tugged at the elder man's lips.

There would be no more wondering. No more 'what ifs' to haunt Haytham's mind like ghosts. He would sleep soundly with Connor in his arms, content in the simple fact that his son was _alive_ and at his side where he was relatively safe. Where he _belonged_.


	20. Chapter 20

As Connor and Haytham prepared to depart for Iran, the Assassin was forced to wonder why Haytham was so... _touchy_ all of a sudden. Not even in the usual allegorical 'moody' way Connor was familiar with either, but as in... _physically_ touchy.

The light brushing of fingers against his arm as Haytham walked past him for the upteenth time just that morning made Connor tense. Over time the Assassin had grown used to his father's occasional touch, in some cases even came to crave it, but never had they been so frequent. He just couldn't figure out what his father was up to.

Beyond this, it couldn't be overlooked that the older man currently offered little comment or sarcastic remarks. That fact alone was enough for concern. Especially with the day being so young. Curious.

Connor took a seat on the bed to slip into his boots. Moments later it dipped under new weight as Haytham sat beside him, close enough for their thighs to touch. He tried to ignore his father's eyes on him as he set about his preparations, but found it distracting. Uncomfortable even. What should've been a simple task now became something of a struggle. After an awkward attempt to put one of his boots on the wrong foot, Connor nonchalantly set about the task much more carefully. The Templar said nothing of the boy's mistake.

Once the boots were finally secure, Connor could take no more and turned to Haytham to question his odd behavior.

Haytham silenced him before he could even get the words out, however, reaching up to lightly caress his cheek. Connor stilled, fighting the urge to pull away, eyeing his father curiously. Perhaps, Connor mused, Haytham had been brainwashed by one of the artifacts.

“How is it you can continue on when you are left with nothing? No one to call your own, to cherish or love you... how can you remain so resolved, so... determined in your quest?”

Connor swallowed a lump in his throat, “Determination is all I have ever had.”

“You are surrounded by betrayal and those who doubt you. Don't you ever... miss having company?”

“I have always been alone, it is what I am used to.”

Haytham sighed and let his hand fall away from the boy's face. Connor was surprised to find he actually began to miss it. His father turned away and said no more, leaving Connor only further confused.

“What is with the strange questions?”

“I just...” Eyebrows furrowed and Haytham shut his mouth. After a moment of silence, he turned back to the Assassin, “The artifact. It enables one to see what may have become had they acted differently in the past.”

“And you...”

Of course. Had Haytham not said again and again that he wondered of his life with Ziio? What the man had done was easy to guess, but Connor didn't want to say the words allowed. Nor did he really wish to inquire about the results of such a change.

Fortunately, he didn't have to.

Haytham sighed and hung his head, “The details matter little. Just know that I'm... I care about you, Connor. More so than any other I have ever known.”

Whatever he had seen must have been beyond painful. For the ex Templar Grand-Master to speak his feelings so openly was nothing short of a miracle, bringing with it the stirrings of pride within Connor.

“Haytham, I... I...” the blush that spread across the Assassin's cheeks was rather enticing.

Connor had never been good with words, and thankfully was saved from the awkward moment when Haytham's lips firmly overtook his own. The boy didn't need to speak. He knew what the boy was feeling even without hearing the words.

The kiss started off slow and methodical, but the sliding of tongues against one another reawakened old desire. Only moments later Haytham had pinned Connor underneath him on the bed, nipping a lip before trailing kisses along the boy's neck.

“Father, we should be leaving to... to find...”

“That will have to wait. I have other things in mind for you.” Haytham purred into his ear. The man's breath against the flesh of Connor's neck caused him to shudder, hands fisting the ex-Templar's coat, pulling the older man ever closer.

Haytham took Connor into another passionate kiss, rutting his hardened crotch against the Assassin's inner thigh. The boy eagerly tugged at Haytham's coat until he pulled back to remove it fully, followed by his shirt. Sitting upright, Connor kissed along a bar collarbone, hands caressing abs, removing himself only so Haytham could undress him.

The next moments were a blur of kisses, suckles and the wandering of hands. It was Haytham who finally broke away, panting heavily as he said, “Let me get the lube. I'll return shortly.”

Connor begrudgingly allowed Haytham to free himself from the Assassin's grasp. As Haytham rummaged through their belongings, Connor made quick work of removing his boots and breeches. After finding the vial of liquid, Haytham did the same.

The moment Haytham was once again within reach, Connor grabbed him and pulled him atop of himself.

“Impatient, are we?” Haytham smirked, carefully slicking two of his fingers with the lube.

Connor said nothing, instead answering by rutting up against Haytham, letting out a little whimper that made the ex-Templar shudder. Setting aside the vial of liquid, the wet fingers were snaked downward to rub Connor's entrance.

Haytham watched as the Assassin shut his eyes and bit his lip against a moan as a finger slipped inside his warmth, thrusts excruciatingly slow.

Quite pleased with the boy's squirming and panting, Haytham finally inserted a second finger. Carefully he scissored and curled his fingers, stretching and teasing the boy.

Impatient, Connor let out a breathless, “Haytham, _please_...”

The sound of his name was enough to push his own patience. The fingers were quickly removed, Connor's legs hooking around Haytham's waist as he took up that familiar position between the Assassin's thighs.

There was little hesitation this time around, Haytham fully sheathing himself within the boy with one powerful thrust. Moaning and the slap of flesh against flesh filled the room as he gave into a rough, merciless rhythm, completely giving in to animalistic need. Whatever pain Connor felt was masked by wave after wave of ecstasy as his father pounded the sensitive spot within.

Fists dug into the bed-sheets as Connor arched, senses overwhelmed by pleasure. After a few more violent thrusts, he wrapped his arms around his father, pulling him close enough to catch him in a sloppy kiss. Haytham gave into the boy's wish for a few moments before taking to nipping the boy's neck.

Connor's moan was deep and drawn out against Haytham's ear, forcing the ex-Templar to quiver and hasten his brutal pace as Connor came between them. It didn't take long for Haytham's orgasm to follow, breath hitching and erection pulsing deep within the boy's heat.

They remained like that for several moments savoring their high before Haytham pulled out and went to retrieve his clothing. Connor's vision was promptly obscured when the Assassin robes were thrown onto his head.

“Let's get going, shall we?”

Connor pushed away the clothes and glared at his father, “I was ready half an hour ago before you decided to change our plans!”

“You seemed like you were quite enjoying yourself. Get up, before I leave you behind.”

~~~  
  
News of the Egyptian Assassin Mentor's death spread like wildfire. Charles, having been on Haytham and the savage's trails right from the start, easily surmised what actually happened. Currently, Charles was having the remaining Assassins captured and interrogated, though none could give the man exact location in which to find his targets or the artifact. He could only assume it had been stolen by the pair.

If that was indeed the case, that meant they now had two of three pieces of the seal. If they managed to connect the three...

Charles muttered and spurred his horse. He'd not think about that, instead focusing his attention on reaching Alamut before they did. With both the Choronzon and Apple of Eden at his use, he may yet be able to stop the two.

~~~

Each day began for the pair with a stop in a tavern or inn for refreshment. Every now and then some Templars would make an appearance, unaware of their targets sitting mere tables away. By listening in on their conversations, Haytham and Connor were able to keep tabs on their progress.

Charles himself was close enough to raise concern and so their travels continued hurriedly. Due to this, the journey out of Egypt to Iran which initially might've taken two months, only took one and a half.

This period of their travels continued quite smoothly without any more attacks from the Templars or otherwise. After the incident with the Maya artifact, it seemed the two became much closer. Violent, determined partners by day and by night something much more personal. It was these nights that often ended with Haytham sheathed deep within the Assassin that made them feel all the more alive, granting them a sense of peace among the chaotic uncertainty that shadowed their mission.

As Shay had said, it wasn't difficult to find Alamut. Eagle vision revealed the trail leading up to the castle. Though beyond disrepair, Connor gazed upon it with much awe and nostalgia. Alamut... the first official headquarters of the Assassin brotherhood. It was truly a wonder the brotherhood had survived so long, endured so many trials. How different the world was due to this perseverance.

So much had occurred in these few months since Haytham's exile. It was perhaps to some relief and fear that such a mission was drawing to a close. There was nothing to predict its outcome, whether they would be successful or to ensure they would even be alive long enough to find out.

The last leg of their trip up to Alamut was made in silent contemplation, atmosphere heavy with a sense of looming danger.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For intents and purposes of this fic, Alamut is still completely intact. Also, forgive any inaccuracies on castle interiors.

**February, 1779**

**Alamut, Iran**

 

Even the mid-afternoon sun failed to warm the travelers headed for Alamut, each breath a small cloud of white that vanished into the air. Luckily there was no snow to further burden their efforts. Time was scarce as it was.

“Woah.” Charles murmured. His horse whinnied softly and slowed to a halt, pawing the dirt with its hoof.

Charles swung his leg over the saddle, carefully dismounting the stallion. Small forms in the path had caught his attention, and now he crouched, analyzing them more carefully. Realizing he hadn't been mistaken as he'd hoped, he couldn't help but curse under his breath.

The shadow of a man passed over him then, obscuring the evidence.

“What is it you've found?” A voice asked impatiently, a figure towering over him.

Charles stood, turning to Reginald, “Footprints. The traitor and his mutt have already passed through here.”

The Grand Master's jaw set, arms crossed over his chest. The chase for these two was an unrelenting thorn in the order's side. Still, months later, Reginald couldn't fathom why the fool had spared Haytham's life to begin with. The ordeal could've been avoided and collection of the artifacts would've proven a smooth, quick task.

“They must not get the artifacts first, Charles. You assured me you would see to that.” Reginald said through gritted teeth. The unsaid threat hung heavily between them. Perhaps, Reginald mused, he should've killed Charles long ago.

No. He should've killed _Haytham_ back at the chateau himself all those years ago. What had stayed his hand? Regret? Guilt?

Reginald's scowl deepened. Such a mistake would not happen again.

Charles nodded, frowning, “The tracks are still fresh. They may have already reached the stronghold, but it'll take time even for them to discover the artifact's location. If we could interrupt their search...”

“I trust you have a plan, then?”

~  
  
The castle, despite its age, consisted of many secret chambers and tunnels capable of concealing an artifact. Its architects were no amateurs. Decades of Assassin occupancy had seen to additional renovations as well, only further strengthening and expanding it. Their ability to adapt was one of the many reasons the brotherhood survived so long, after all.

Several hours passed in Connor and Haytham's search without results. The only things the pair managed to find were old books whose yellowed pages disintegrated under the slightest touch.

Haytham sighed, “The day is drawing to a close; we should take advantage of the remaining sunlight. More ground will be covered if we split up.”

Connor nodded, pointing down the hallway nearest to him, “I will go this way. You take the other. We will rendezvous wherever they merge.”

With a silent nod, both men went their separate ways, eyes scanning the shadows for anything out of the ordinary. Fortunate it was that both Kenways acquired the Eagle vision. Such a gift should make the search just a bit easier, a great advantage over the Templars who were sure to join them soon enough.

Only minutes later, the distinct sound of rocks thrown and ricocheting off the wall hit Connor's ears and made him halt. There the noise came again and now he could pinpoint its source; just beyond the turn up ahead. Someone was there with them. A Templar most likely.

Connor silently reached behind himself, grabbing an arrow and loading it into his bow. Pulling the string back, he quietly walked ahead, arrow ready and aimed to pierce the heart of the intruder.

In only a few steps he had reached the turn. All along the noise had repeated, growing louder and louder. For a second, the Assassin waited, listening intently before hurriedly stepping out of his hiding place, bow pointed at... nothing.

The noise had ceased and not a soul was to be found in the current chamber with him. It was just an empty room, with stone walls and a dirt floor. Devoid of any person, furniture or useful clues. Confused, Connor lowered his bow.

In the Assassin's distraction, he had failed to hear the man creeping up along behind him through the darkness. The hilt of a sword was thrust against the back of his skull, forcing him to succumb to unconsciousness.

Charles grinned down at the motionless body before him and set to work.

~

In what was once used as a spacious study for the Assassins, Haytham waited. Calloused fingers ran along the edge of an old table and he sighed. The hallways merged here. Their agreed upon rendezvous point.

After some time of waiting, Haytham had explored the castle further, coming upon the ruins of an obscured library underground. It was there in which Haytham found the last piece of the artifact, another circular metal object with a triangular indentation in its center just big enough for the Maya. Just like all the other artifacts, this too was adorned by the signature precursor symbols.

Even after his discovery and return to the rendezvous point, still more time passed without sign of Connor. Maybe the boy had found more secret chambers, as Haytham had, and now perused them thoroughly.

Maybe something worse had happened.

The ex-Templar sighed heavily and reached into his coat, taking out the artifact and idly stroking the markings, contemplating if he should continue to wait or attempt to find the boy. If he chose the latter, what assurance was there he would even find him? The castle vaguely resembled a labyrinth. The best choice of action was to wait.

Yet he couldn't shake the feeling that something just wasn't right, and when had instinct ever failed him before?

“Haytham.” A familiar voice called, Connor stepping out of the shadows toward his father.

“It's about time! Should I accompany you next time and hold your hand perhaps? Make sure you don't get lost?”

Connor glared at him, “Did you find the artifact?”

“I have.” Haytham held it up for Connor to see.

The Assassin outstretched his open palm, “May I see all of them, Dad?”

Haytham reached into the bag at his side and removed the other two artifacts. With all in hand, he reached out to Connor, “Of course, S-”

He stilled, insides suddenly cold.

The boy had called him _Dad_. In all their months of working and living together, Haytham could not recall a single instance wherein Connor had called him Dad. If not his name or 'Old Man', he was always addressed either as Father or as Rake;ni. He looked up, meeting brown, guarded eyes glaring at him intensely. Connor waited, jaw clenched and brows furrowed.

The ill feeling from before had not dissipated. Instead, it now screamed.

At the last moment, Haytham withdrew his arm, along with the artifacts, “Where is my son?”

The... entity that claimed to be Connor sighed. After a moment of silence, a wicked smirk spread across his face. A slightly unsettling image of Connor, real or not. Haytham slid his empty hand to the hilt of his sword, taking several steps backward. The artifacts were pocketed once again.

The image of Connor distorted and blurred. Tan skin became paler, frame thinner.

Moments later it was Charles who stood before Haytham instead of Connor.

“That's quite a look you've taken up, Sir. Inspired by the savage?” Charles said, nodding to Haytham's hair, long and untied.

“What have you done, Charles?”

“Obeyed orders.” Reginald interrupted, leaning against the wall of the far entrance. At his voice, Haytham _almost_ jumped. He silently scolded himself for not sensing the presence of his enemies sooner. Reginald ignored the man's heated glare and nodded at something within the darkness.

More men filed into the room then, feeding Haytham's unease. Some of them Haytham recognized, but most he didn't. All Templars nonetheless. Haytham's breath hitched when he took sight of Connor following the group into the room, but the Assassin wasn't quite himself. His skin was a shade paler than usual, eyes glazed over. His movements were calculated and awkward, almost like a puppet.

Seething, Haytham glared at his former mentor. Many years ago he may have respected and perhaps even looked up to Reginald, but now all he felt was disgust and growing hatred toward the man. Same could be said about Charles, who now joined the grand master at this side like some kind of guard dog.

Reginald reached into his pocket and took out a familiar glowing object. The Choronzon. All the world seemed to halt, time frozen as Haytham realized what had happened to his son. What _Reginald_ and _Charles_ had done.

“You know what this is, don't you Haytham? Of course you do. I'm sure you're intelligent enough to put the pieces together. Give me the artifacts and I will release the boy. Otherwise, I will take the artifacts by force... and allow your petty son to die.”


	22. Chapter 22

Connor woke only to find himself on his knees, his vision terribly blurry. He tried to stand, but his dizziness forced him back down. The next thing he realized was that he couldn't move his arms; his wrists were bound behind his back with what felt like rope. It took a moment to recall what had happened, to remember following that noise down the corridor only to find no one in there. Then what? Everything after that point came up blank.

He grunted at a sharp pain in the back of his head, and the room spun again. When everything re-stabilized a few moments later, Connor finally realized he was not actually alone. Two figures stood over him, watching him. Two men, one familiar and one whose identity was easy enough to guess.

Charles scoffed, “The mutt's finally awake.”

“Charles!” Connor hissed, pulling at the ropes. His effort did little other than make them cut further into his skin, blood oozing out of the fresh wounds. The pain, however, went unnoticed under his growing rage.

 _So close._ His greatest enemy was mere feet away... and under what circumstances? Not under Connor's blade, as he should have been, but staring down at him with a triumphant gleam in his eye. This was _not_ how Connor imagined this mission to go down.

The man whom stood beside Charles, the one Connor assumed to be the notorious Reginald Birch, said, “So this is the brat's son?”

“Yes, Sir. The filthy savage whose been undoing our order. Haytham's bastard spawn.”

Reginald took in the sight of the bound Assassin. He could see the relation; the Kenway chin and nose were strikingly recognizable, not to mention the stubborn determination... everything else was unfamiliar. Wild. Testament of his native mother.

Nonetheless, this Assassin had proven time and time again to be undeniably strong. Both in mind and body. That brute strength would be an immeasurable asset once everything was in order. Reginald grinned.

The Assassin said nothing, instead glaring at the pair before him, wondering how they'd managed to best him. All along he'd been so careful... they'd thought themselves far ahead of the Templars, had eased up in their caution and now... this was the price.

Was Haytham also bound somewhere in another corridor, wondering the very same things Connor did now? Or was he still searching for the last piece of the artifact? Perhaps he was waiting somewhere not so far away, wondering where the hell his son had wandered off to. Perhaps... Haytham had suffered a worse fate.

Connor bared his teeth, braced himself to attack whomever the closest man was the very moment he was freed of his confines. Now, he was but a feral beast caged and put on display, and these two spectators were picking him apart with their eyes.

Reginald reached into his pocket, taking out a familiar, glowing object. Connor's entire body tensed up just at the sight of it; the choronzon.

“You don't know what this actually does, do you?”

Still, Connor refused to speak. It was true. He'd had the barest of ideas, but no clear understanding of the artifact's function or effect. No doubt he'd soon find out.

Reginald's grin widened, “I'll just have to show you.”

In Reginald's hand, the object seemed to glow even brighter, and the dull ache in the back of Connor's head spread, overwhelming all thought with pain. He doubled over, jaw clenched, fighting the urge to scream, to admit defeat or weakness. This anguish was far worse than any other physical torture he'd endured.

Despite his strong will, eventually the pain grew far too much for even this Master Assassin to bear, and his vision was once again overrun by darkness.

The next thing Connor knew he was waking up... under a tree? The air was fresh and pure, a stark contrast to the musky, stale air within the castle. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, vision slowly coming into focus as he took in his surroundings... the trees, the woods, grass... he instantly recognized the valley just outside his village. The same one in which he'd once played hide and seek with the other kids... his friends... back when life was still carefree and easy...

How was this possible? Was he not just on the other side of the world, bound by ropes in a corridor in Alamut only moments ago? Yet here he was... home.

“It's about time you woke up.”

Connor stilled, turning to the source of the voice... Ziio. Sitting right beside him, smiling down at him. His heart pounded in his ears, eyes welling up with tears without his permission. He fought them, struggling to hold himself together.

Ziio regarded him curiously, “Why are you crying?”

“I... I do not understand... you are dead! How did...” Connor reached up to touch his mother's cheek. She did not disappear or fade as he'd expected, as she always had in his dreams.

No, this time her skin was solid and warm under his touch.

She covered his hand with her own, “It was all a dream, my son. I'm fine.”

Relief overpowered all confusion as he wrapped his arms around his mother and pulled her close. She was alive and perfectly healthy in his embrace. For now that was all that mattered. Answers would come later.

Unfortunately, unbeknownst to the Assassin, she wasn't _really_ there. Connor was lost within the farthest reaches of his mind, his body still in the chamber with Reginald and Charles. With a nod from the former, Charles cut the ropes binding Connor's wrists. The Assassin stood, gaze empty, staring off at nothing in particular.

“You will take us to Haytham, and you will retrieve the artifacts for us.” Reginald said simply, Charles watching this all unfold with fascinated curiosity.

The Assassin nodded at Reginald's command and turned, making his way further into the hall that would inevitably lead to Haytham. A puppet without a conscious.

~  
“That's a new low, even for you, Reginald.” Haytham muttered, voice laced with loathing. His eyes were trained on his former mentor like a hawk on it's prey. He was aware of each breath and the slightest movements of every man in the room. The shifting of feet, the rustle of fabric, an out of place intake of breath... all sent electricity through the ex-Templar's veins.

All exits were blocked. He was cornered, severely outnumbered.

Reginald laughed, “I'd think that the least terrible thing I've done, Haytham. I mean... well, look at _you_. I've shaped your entire life!”

Haytham couldn't ignore the flashes of memories; the midnight intruders, the shouting, the blood, the _fear_. His throat tightened as he remembered watching the life fade from his father's eyes right in front of him. _Because of Reginald._

Forced to become a Templar, tricked into working for his father's enemies. _Because of Reginald._

No, that wasn't entirely true, was it? Even upon learning the truth, Haytham had chosen to remain a Templar, to remain under Reginald's command, _not_ because of Reginald but because the Templars were noble, despite some of their members. To fix the wrongs. To restore the order of its corruption.

For all those things, for all his mistakes, befriending Connor and saving the world of Charles and Reginald's reign... that was how he was to amend the past.

“The things I've done were my decision and my decision _alone_.”

“Well it's time for you to make another decision. What'll it be, Haytham? Which is more important; Your son... or the artifacts?”

Haytham's knuckles were white around the artifacts. Silently, he pocketed them, glaring daggers at the men before him, “If I were to hand them over, you'd kill us anyways.”

There was little chance of either of them surviving this ordeal no matter what he chose to do at this point; he had to accept that. Haytham was born and raised in irony and thus the ex-Templar Grand Master would die, ironically, in the birthplace of Assassins. Perhaps even alongside his Assassin son. Really, their only chance was for him to face Reginald and Charles head-on and see if he might undo their enchantment upon his son... as unlikely as his success might be, he had the responsibility to try.

Reginald put a hand on his hip, the other brought up to tap his chin, feigning thought, “True. You _have_ been a pain the arse... I supposed that leaves us with no options.”

That earned an eyebrow raise from Haytham, who withdrew his sword and took up a defensive stance. He was prepared to draw blood. To kill. Even to give up his life in that corridor if that's what he had to do in order to stop Reginald and Charles.

Reginald spoke, louder this time, “Connor. Kill him.”

Without a word or hint of hesitation, Connor set upon his father, wielding his tomahawk, eyes dark with focused determination. A deadly Master Assassin currently unrestrained by emotion or thought, closing in on a single goal; to kill Haytham.

Haytham's blood instantly froze, breath caught in his throat...

He was prepared to do anything to ensure their success... _except_ fight his _son_.


	23. Chapter 23

_1777_

_The Templar Grand Master walked with his son in silence through snow-laden woods.. Though the air was frigid, neither seemed affected by it. Each was lost in their own thoughts, though still focused on their task; find Benjamin Church._

_The Assassin's eyes scanned the ground and overgrowth in methodical sections. Haytham watched the boy, intrigued with his striking similarities to Ziio. The eyes, the movement, even the tracking style. If Haytham wasn't currently fighting waves of grief over the reminders of Ziio, he might've smirked as Connor puffed out his chest triumphantly, having found a clue. A smashed crate._

_This boy, Haytham mused, had destroyed his order single-handedly, eliminating each target with surprising ease, plucking them off one by one. Even with all the devastation, the betrayal that surrounded the boy, he yet remained determined in his cause, still holding on to hope. It was almost inspiring enough to change Haytham's beliefs of the world._

_He had to admit, when he looked upon the boy he was filled with a sort of pride. There was a clear opportunity there, for something extraordinary, but it would have to pass without him. Haytham's time for heroics had long gone, ruined by fate._

_It was pleasant while it lasted, walking silently with his son. For a moment in time, he could pretend there were no Assassins, no Templars, no war, no Reginald birch. Just him and his son, the tie between him and Ziio, the only woman he had ever loved. For a moment he may have given in to his dreams of having a family. Something to hold on to._

_Yet it couldn't be. He couldn't let himself get attached because in the end, Haytham was bound by duty to the Templars and would one day, be forced to fight his son, and perhaps even kill him. With the way things were currently unfolding, that day might indeed come sooner than he'd wished._

_As much as it might hurt Connor, he would push the boy away in sentiment, only using him to his advantage. He would not allow himself to care. It was for the best._

  
  


**Present**

Sometimes Haytham damned his own intelligence. This was one such time. He'd known from the very beginning of their alliance they'd be drawn to blows, either by force or by responsibility to their orders. Yet he'd given in nonetheless, he'd let himself grow to love his son.

Now he was in far too deep; he couldn't bear to harm the boy. Memories spanning the past few months flashed through his mind. The long heart to heart talks, fighting by his Son's side, finding him after the wreck of the Aquila, defending him from the slaver, taking him for the first time beside that lake... how could he just turn around and kill the boy now?

With only mere seconds left to consider his options, Haytham took up a defensive stance as Connor closed the distance between them. The predator coming in for the kill.

~

Still trapped in the depths of his own mind, Connor was convinced he was beside his Mother, sitting under a tree outside his village. Everything was so vivid, so _real_. Ziio was telling him a story - he couldn't quite make out the words nor the meaning, but he was content enough just to listen to her voice. It was soothing.

Nostalgia ate him from the inside, but he didn't understand why. He simply ignored it, pushed the feeling down and listened to his mother speak.

He was easing into a blissful nap when he heard yet another voice. This one within his head, somehow much clearer and more familiar. Masculine. Its tone bordered on hostile, but affection lay behind it.

"Connor! Stop this!"

"Stop what?" He said aloud. His mother paused, looking at him quizzically. Connor shook his head and allowed her to continue with her story. The voice began again.

"Didn't you want to kill Lee? To make him pay for burning your village?"

That was definitely his father's voice. Which didn't make any sense because he'd never known his father, so how did he recognize the voice? At the name Lee, Connor felt some wave of disgust and was only further confused. Who was Lee? He checked the sky - yes he could still see the rising smoke from the bonfire within his village. His home was still there. Unharmed.

"I do not understand any of this. I am hearing Father's voice and he is not making any sense."

Ziio tensed and said rather sharply, "Don't listen to it. Just ignore it and focus on my words."

Connor nodded and attempted again to get some rest. Perhaps it would help clear his mind and make the strange voice go away.
    
    
    ~
    

Haytham barely avoided yet another swing from Connor's tomahawk as it lodged itself in the wall behind him. The look on the Assassin's face was unnerving, even a little frightening. Emotionless. Thoughtless. His movements were swift and unpredictable.

Reginald stood by, observing the fight with crossed arms, a scowl on his face. Charles held an amused grin, eyes gleaming. Haytham could say now with utmost certainty, he despised Lee almost much as Connor did. All of this was Charles's fault.

Haytham had finally caved in to the feelings he developed for his son. Both parental and romantically. Connor had torn down his walls and unlike anyone else, he had accepted him wholeheartedly for who and what he was. He had been the only person to stick by his side even through his stubborn and manipulative ways. In the end, even Ziio had given up on him, and she had been the one person he'd loved.

Reginald had taken his family, his childhood, his opportunity to choose his own path. Charles had taken his career and indirectly, Ziio. Both were selfish, despicable monsters. Now they were trying to take Connor too. Haytham wouldn't allow that. If one of them had to die, it would be him.

Connor swung again his tomahawk, but this time Haytham manage to grab it, throwing it far out of the Assassin's reach. Immediately, Connor attempted to stab him through the heart with the hidden blade, but Haytham caught his wrist at the last moment.

They struggled for control. Now it all came down to strength, Haytham knew. Due to this, he was forced to accept that he wouldn't, _couldn't_ win this fight; he was old and his aging muscles weren't as strong as they once were. Especially not against an Assassin still in his prime. An Assassin who currently feared nothing, who would do everything to carry out the order to kill his father. So Haytham gave one last attempt to break through the hold of the Choronzon over his son.
    
    
    ~

Ziio absentmindedly ran her fingers through Connor's hair as he dozed. On the very brink of sleep, he was yanked back into consciousness yet again when his father's voice returned, even more determined.

"Connor! Whatever you're seeing isn't real! Whoever you're with isn't real! You must listen!”

Irritated, Connor scowled and Ziio sighed, "It's back? Perhaps you -"

"Listen to me, Connor. If you don't push through the illusion, you will lose your chance to take revenge. Charles Lee will prevail, and he will enslave everyone. He will destroy the world as we know it."

Charles Lee. Again the disgust came with the name. This time a face also flashed through his mind. Dark hair, thick eyebrows and mustache. Connor vaguely recalled being choked and kicked. When had that happened?

"Mother..."

"Didn't you want to take revenge for Ziio's death? For kanen'to;kon's death?"

He tried to ignore the voice, pass it off as some hallucination. Lack of food might be the culprit. Maybe Ziio's story. Whatever it was, he didn't dare think of his mother or his best friend dead. It was too painful a consideration. Yet the desperation behind the voice, real or not, was at least a little alarming.

Sensing his unease, Ziio leaned over and kissed Connor's forehead, "It's okay. The voice is not real. I am here, Connor."

Connor's eyes snapped open. Only moments later, he grabbed his mother by the arms and slammed her back against the tree trunk, "Mother never called me Connor. What are you?"

The Ziio-illusion closed her eyes and sighed. Connor's thoughts reeled. Where was he? What was going on? The more he questioned, the more everything around them seemed to shatter into pieces. A pleasant afternoon outside became a musky room with stone walls and flooring, and suddenly he was wrestling with Haytham.

Connor's heart leapt into his throat as everything came crashing back all at once. The years of memories, the hatred, the realization that the Templars had actually managed to capture him and get into his head.

He caught his Father's widened eyes focused on him. Still not completely understanding what was going on, Connor breathlessly said, “Father?”

The subtlest of grins tugged at the corner of Haytham's mouth. Then he began to choke, blood running from his mouth down his chin. Only then did Connor see it...

His hidden blade was lodged deep inside the man's chest.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess what! Next week's update is the *last one* will be a two-chapter update (Actually 1 and a half since 26 is an epilogue..) 
> 
> Wanted to thank everyone who's been commenting/following this! It's been a fun few months and I'm having such feelings about coming to the end of my first fan-fic... D:

Connor caught his father as he collapsed, slowly easing him down atop his lap. Haytham was already struggling to breath, each inhale shallow and labored, the whole front of his body soaked through with fresh blood. Connor held him, watching him, his expression an emotionless mask though inside he was panicking. He put a hand against the wound, trying desperately to stop the bleeding but he knew... it was no use. A chest wound like that was lethal.

This couldn't be happening! Not now, not after they'd gone through so much! He refused to accept it, as if his refusal alone would undo the damage, would save his father.

Haytham trembled, reached into his coat pocket and took out the artifacts. With shaking fingers, he barely managed to connect them, sliding each piece into corresponding indentations.

Connor watched as the artifact, now complete, glowed in Haytham's grasp, but did nothing more. A weak, incoherent noise escaped the ex-Templar as he tried to speak, but was lost to another fit of violent coughing. Oblivious as to what to do, Connor held the man firmly against himself, unaware of the tears streaking down his own cheeks.

He met his father's eyes, seeing the desperation clear within them. Then... it was gone.

Haytham's body grew limp in Connor's arms, the artifact still in his hand. His eyes remained turned to Connor, yet now were lifeless. The Assassin carefully laid down his father on the floor, shut the man's eyes and took the artifact. He wished he could at least make Haytham more comfortable, better yet; bring him back to life. How was he supposed to fight the Templars without him?

Only then did Connor realize he was shaking. Uncontrollably. The Assassin took several deep breaths, but it didn't help, didn't calm him down. He held up the completed artifact to gaze upon it, though his vision was cloudy.

They'd spent months searching for these... in order to obtain them before Charles and Reginald could and use them to fight. Everything that had happened since then... the growing relationship with his father... all the people killed in the process... all for these small pieces of metal.

Connor couldn't even recall what the artifact actually did. Why had they been so determined to find this? What did it do? He tried to remember, tried to return to that time they'd spent in his village, when Haytham first deciphered Holden's journal, but the pain kept pulling him back to the present.

A chuckling met the Assassin's ears, “That's a good boy. Now hand over the artifact.”

Connor turned slowly to Charles and Reginald, who grinned at him. It sent a shudder of anger through him, every inch of his being filled with disgusted hatred. This was _their_ fault. All their fault. Everything he had lost was due to _their_ selfishness.

Connor pocketed the artifact and withdrew his tomahawk once again. It was time, once and for all, to _end_ this. To exact his and even his father's vengeance. To kill Charles and Reginald.

Reginald sighed, “I feared it might come to that. If Haytham had just handed over the artifacts, he wouldn't have had to die. You could still live, but you choose to continue fighting a worthless cause. A shame, really.”

The Grand Master nodded to the Templars at his side. They withdrew their swords and approached Connor carefully, faces set in guarded concentration. Some were more frightened, sweat lining their brow, but still they pushed on. Fear of punishment for failure was stronger than their fear of the Assassin.

The Assassin was led by rage, by pain. The realization was only now _truly_ sinking in... his father was _dead_. By _Connor's_ own blade nonetheless! Never again would he be able to hold him, never again would Haytham argue with him or tell him everything was fine...

Connor fought the tears and devastation with action. Effortlessly he cut down one Templar after another, memories of Haytham flooding his mind. Each image a sharp pain in the Assassin's chest, Haythm's voice loud and clear, as if the man were standing beside him, talking right against his ear.

_"I want you to know if i could go back and change things, I would. I would've been a better father, I could-"_

Blood sprayed over the Assassin's face as he slit the throat of another Templar. He tried to push away the memories, to ignore them, yet still they continued...

“ _So… you believe in me?”_

_Haytham sputtered, “I was merely stating a fact... I am… proud of you, though. In a way.”_

Connor ran the hidden blade through the head of his next assailant and shoved his body aside. Two more met similar fates.

“ _Just know that I'm... I care about you, Connor. More so than any other I have ever known.”_

More and more Templars fell to Connor's blades. The Assassin fought, feeling once again like he was trapped in some kind of vivid dream. Like none of this was actually real. If only that were actually the case... if only he could wake up, finding himself safe in Haytham's arms...

Meanwhile, Charles and Reginald watched the fight unfold, and the Assassin unravel. The Templars lost mattered little to them. They were dying for a grand cause. Progress required sacrifice, right?

Eventually Charles began, “The Assassin is defeating all of them – mayb-”

“Take a closer look. The mutt is using all his strength on these attacks. His pain is clouding his focus, his logic. At this rate, he'll be exhausted in no time. We wait for that to happen, then we strike.”

They stood silent for a moment before Charles asked, “Did you know he would actually kill Haytham?”  
Reginald smirked, “I knew only that he would lead us to him. A lucky surprise, actually. It's about time the brat was dealt with.”

Yes, Connor killing Haytham had made their job a hell of a lot easier. Not only did it finish off half the threat, but incapacitated the other. Charles couldn't help but grin at the ironic justice of the ex-Templar dying at the hands of his own son, he that had crippled the order. After today, neither of them would be of issue. The Templars would rise to their deserved glory.

Alas, as Reginald foretold, Connor found his strength failing him. Countless dead bodies lay surrounding him, blood and guts littering the floor. His chest was heaving, body trembling. The only people left alive in the room were him, Reginald and Charles.

Connor and his greatest enemies.

Reginald grinned, “You've got it all out of your system now, Lad?”

Connor glared, starting toward the pair, tomahawk in hand. Quickly the distance between them was closed in large, measured strides.

Immediately Charles took out the Apple of Eden, raising it above himself. Connor copied with his own completed artifact, still unknowing as to what it would do. He could only hope the artifact would aid in his attacks.

A blinding zap of electricity shot from the artifact, directly hitting the Apple of Eden.

In the force of the blast that followed, everyone tumbled to the ground. The completed artifact was thrown from Connor's hand and came apart, all three pieces now laying idly side by side. The apple met a much different fate; crumbling to dust when Charles attempted to grab it.

“That bloody artifact!” Reginald muttered, struggling to his feet and withdrawing his sword, “We must deal with the Assassin directly. Do _not_ let him retrieve the artifacts!”

Charles collected himself, scrambled to his feet and withdrew his own sword.

With a strangled snarl, Connor got to his feet and immediately lunged for Charles. He attempted to strike him with the tomahawk, but his arm was knocked aside, a fist landing against his jaw. He stumbled backward, glaring at his opponents.

Any other time, any other situation, he would've been able to pinpoint his own mistakes. He'd be able to figure out how to fight these two, how to _defeat_ them. He'd see their weaknesses immediately and know how to exploit them. That's what he was trained to do, after all. Yet the loss was overwhelming, the loss of his father, even his mother, his childhood friends... everyone he'd cared for had been taken away by these two.

Anger controlled him, distracting his focus. A puppet no longer to Reginald, but to a wish for vengeance.

Connor struck again and again, yet was blocked each time. Charles managed to slash his side as he was distracted by Reginald. This vulnerability gave Reginald the opening needed to slice his chest.

The pain was blinding, yet Connor struggled on. Blows and parries were traded, but every little opportunity was seized by his relentless opponents. Reginald and Charles were each formidable foes alone, and together?

As the fight dragged onward, the remainder of Connor's strength was quickly drained, accelerated by fresh wounds. His opponents didn't miss this weakness and hastened their strikes, until eventually his tomahawk was wrenched away from him and his legs knocked out from under him.

The Assassin hit the ground with a thud. He coughed, a bit of blood splattering against the floor. Reginald and Charles stood over him, the former's sword to his neck before he could even attempt to stand again.

The artifacts... they were just out of Connor's reach. He could try to grab for them... and would be beheaded before he got close. Could he somehow get them and reconnect the seal before that happened? He doubted it... but what choice did he really have but to try?

Reginald grinned, “I want to thank you for going through the trouble of finding those for us, by the way. They'll be of great use to us in ushering in the new world order...” he laughed, “ _My_ world order. Charles?”

Charles joined Reginald's side and raised his sword, ready to bring it down and end the Assassin's life once and for all. A moment was all it would take. Never mind attempting to grab the artifacts. He was to be killed before he even got that chance. Connor closed his eyes, bracing himself for the pain sure to come. He wasn't even afraid of death. Never had and certainly didn't now. All he could think of was...

Time had run out. This was the end... he'd failed. Failed the Assassins, failed everyone that depended on him... failed his father. All their work and all the lives lost... that was all wasted.

The Templars had won and _he_ was to blame.


	25. Chapter 25

When Connor heard gunfire, he'd simply assumed Reginald had withdrawn a pistol and shot him. To the Assassin's shock, there was no pain; he didn't even feel the impact of the bullet. A loud ringing overwhelmed him, and if it weren't for this, he'd never even known of the gunshot that ended him, that brought his life work to ruin.

Yet... he could still feel the sting of the wounds adorning his sides, his chest... he could still feel the drops of blood running down his body. His chest rose and fell with each breath, breaths he failed to realize he was still taking. None of these things registered.

The ringing ceased moments later only to be replaced by a voice. A familiar voice that, faint at first, grew louder, more agitated, “Get the damn artifact, Connor!”

That was unmistakably Haytham's voice. If Haytham was speaking, then that proved he was dead too, right? Except when Connor finally opened his eyes, though he didn't know what to expect to see in the afterlife, he certainly hadn't expected Reginald backed up against the wall, hand covering the side of his face. Charles was beside him as well, momentarily stunned, glaring at something behind Connor.

If he were dead... then what happened to Reginald and Cha-

“Are you _deaf_?”

Connor whipped around to see his father, struggling to his feet. Still drenched in blood, but... _alive_. Reloading his pistol. Only then Connor finally realize he wasn't actually dead after all. Somehow, Haytham was alive and had been the one behind the gunfire.

The relief that swept through him almost made him tear up again. Haytham was _alive_. How? How was this possible? Connor wanted to shout, to interrogate the man, but there was no time.

Both Charles and Connor seemed to get over their shock in the same moment, both turning and running for the artifacts. The wounded Assassin struggled, breath still ragged but he forced himself onward. His wounds stung with every breath and movement, slowing him, and alas, he was too late. Charles reached the artifacts first, until... yet _another_ gunshot fired. It barely missed Charles, would've taken his hands clean off if he hadn't jumped backward the very last second.

His slight distraction was long enough for Connor to lurch forward one more stride and scoop up the artifacts from the floor. Charles tried to snatch them away, but Connor, despite his growing pain, managed to fend him off.

Meanwhile, Reginald had recovered and now seething, headed right for Haytham. The entire right half of his face was covered in fresh, dark blood. The bullet had grazed his cheek, but to Haytham's frustration, nothing more.

“How the bloody hell are you alive, you filthy brat?”

Haytham sneered, “Perhaps the more important question is... why are _you_ still alive?”

Reginald, knuckles white around the handle of his sword, made his move. So he'd have to finish Haytham himself after all.

In the same instance, mere feet away, Connor quickly slid the artifacts into place, once again completing it. It glowed once more and a subtle electric surge seem to run through his body, forcing him to shudder. In a matter of moments, he found his strength restored, and upon further examination, found all his wounds completely healed. As if they'd never existed.

_That sneaky bastard! Father knew!_

Connor scowled. Yet again, his father had manipulated him well. Of course, he was more relieved at this than angry, for in the expanse of mere minutes, he'd watched his father die and faced his own ultimate failure and demise... but now they had a chance again. A chance to defeat to Reginald and Charles, to stop the Templars.

The Assassin's eyes locked with Charles's.

Connor silently pocketed the artifact and with tomahawk in hand, took up a defensive stance. This time, this fight with Charles Lee... this would be the _last_. Charles seem to come to the same conclusion, and with face set in determined focus, lunged forward.

Now much calmer and more focused, Connor's fight with Charles alone was much easier. Like animals they fought, merciless and fearless. No words were exchanged as the battle drew on, none were needed. To each the other was nothing but a monstrous pest in need of extermination.

Even with Haytham's training, Charles found himself outwitted many a time by the Assassin. His own mentor's son. Charles miscalculated his effort in the next parry, and found his arm knocked aside. Next thing he registered was the cold of the blade as it was lodged into his throat.

Pain and the taste of blood overwhelmed him then, filling his throat and mouth. Unable to breath, he began to choke, his sword clattering against the floor as he dropped it. To his surprise, the Assassin caught him and actually lay his body on the floor, as he'd done with Haytham.

Connor watched him, mouth set in a thin line. As if waiting... for Charles to speak his regret? To admit he was wrong? He'd give the mutt no such satisfaction.

Without so much as a word, Charles Lee finally stilled.

Connor reached over, closed the man's eyes and stood. As he looked upon Charles for the last time, he found little joy in finally having killed him. Ending his life may have stopped him from enslaving thousands and furthering the rise of a tyrannical league of Templars, yet this did not ease Connor's pain. Nor did it help his inner turmoil that had haunted him since the day he watched his mother burn.

His worst enemy was dead by his hand, his lifelong wish finally fulfilled, and yet it changed nothing inside him.

The clashing of metal against metal brought Connor out of his thoughts and he turned to watch the fight still in progress. He'd not intervene. Reginald was wounded, bloody. As Charles was Connor's to take, Reginald was Haytham's.

When the second set of swords had ceased clashing, Haytham stole the briefest of glances in the other direction. Relief swept through him at the site of Connor lowering Charles's motionless body to the floor. He didn't even feel the slightest remorse in witnessing the death of whom was once his student.

“Your partner's met his demise, Reginald, and you fare no better.”

Reginald scoffed, “Matters little. Remember who was your _mentor_ , Haytham.”

“My _father_ was my mentor. You were nothing but a deceiving, lying prick!” Haytham retorted, countering Reginald's next lunge.

“Really shouldn't say such things of your superiors!”

“Perhaps you were when I was but a child. Now?”

Reginald failed to parry the next onslaught of attacks, and practically folded in on himself when his belly was torn open, blood pouring onto the floor. Haytham watched him, eyes gleaming with triumph. Now it was only a matter of minutes.

“You and your pathetic dog are _nothing_. Your efforts amount to nothing. Your _lives_ amount to nothing.” Reginald spat onto the floor, a thick glob of blood, and straightened himself again.

In a last desperate attempt to at least drag Haytham along with him into the throes of death, Reginald fought on, but was far too weak. Only moments later, after several easy parries, Reginald found himself impaled on Haytham's sword.

“Cowardly words, Reginald. Fitting for a man such as yourself, I suppose.” Haytham said coldly before pulling the sword back. Reginald collapsed in a heap on the floor, fighting for breath.

“Your father...” The dying man began.

Haytham's brows furrowed, “What about him?”

“Edward would be... proud.” Reginald choked before growing limp.

Enveloped by silence and the unforgiving stench of death, Haytham stood, staring callously down at Reginald's body. Lost in silent pondering, he didn't even hear Connor walk up beside him, but the boy instantly recognized the mask he'd put in place.

“You doubt him.” Connor said eventually.

Haytham sighed and re-sheathed his sword, not even bothering to wipe away Reginald's blood, “There's little for my father to be proud of. I became a Templar serving under his murderer. Due to my actions, the Templars stole several precursor artifacts, my sister was...”

“You are not to blame for the actions of others. You avenged your family and Holden. Today we have saved thousands, if not millions of lives. And now we may unite the Templars and Assassins. Was that not what you wanted?”

“That's what _you_ wanted.”

“It is a dream we _shared_ and one that may now be realized.”

Haytham stared at him for a long moment before laughing to himself. Connor was right. They were far more similar than he'd originally realized. Now, as he looked upon the boy, he may even have seen himself from all those years ago, young and wanting nothing more than peace. Unity between the orders... oh what could be accomplished then?

Connor continued, “He would be proud of you... as I am. Although you could have told me your plan before you had me nearly killed.”

Haytham sighed, “To be honest I wasn't entirely sure it would work. It was by sheer luck I came-to just in time.” Without waiting for any sort of reply, he nodded toward the exit and said, “Shall we be off then? For home?”


	26. Epilogue

"I have been offered reclamation of my former position as Grand Master." Haytham said, crossing his arms over the railing.

The last place they'd expected to be was in this same spot again, on the same ship, from so many months ago, and yet here they were. This time around, there was no foreboding, no awkward conversation of long-dead memories. Now they were relaxed, looking forward to step off the Morrigan onto American soil.

Yes... after leaving Alamut they'd retraced their steps all the way back to Egypt, where a young Templar messenger had finally caught up with them. Sent from no other than Shay Cormac, announcing his waiting for them in Cameroon.

To Connor's joy and awkward thanks, Shay was accompanied by his new first mate, Mr. Faulkner and the remains of the Aquila's crew. As it turned out, they were quite the formidable pair of sailors. A team of Assassins and Templars.

Now, they were finally on their way home.

Connor nodded, and looked to his father, "That is what you wanted.”

Haytham said nothing, looking over the waves with a more appeased expression than Connor had ever seen on him before.

In the silence, Connor had often wondered what would become of them after their mission was over. Would they drift apart, their relationship to be forgotten? As much as he might push the thought away before, now as they neared America once again, it was a subject he couldn't ignore. That _they_ couldn't ignore.

“And I expect you'll be returning to your brotherhood?”

“Of course.”

Then Connor took a quick look around, and content that not a soul was listening, lowered his voice, “What of us?”

Haytham smirked, “What of it? Don't tell me you think I'd just leave, never to bother with you again after all we've gone through?”

“It is not completely _un_ expected.”

“I remember you were once so eager to make me stay, and now you would have me gone?”

“No, I did not say that, I merely... I _fear_ that I would not see you again.”

Haytham sighed, shaking his head, “I wouldn't allow it. You mean too much to me, Connor."

Connor's eyes grew wide, "What was that, Father?"

"I won't say it again!"

Connor was unable to hide his smirk.

“It is inevitable that our orders, although facing a valuable truce, might continue to clash from time to time, that every now and then a tyrant may find his way above the ranks. I shall trust that our alliance might help remedy that. You once said I couldn't deny that 'we can accomplish much more together than we can our own' and you were right. And we shall continue to do so until the day I meet my end.”

Connor nodded, saying nothing, yet comforted by Haytham's insistence of their continued alliance. Everything would undoubtedly be much different from then on...

“Land hoy!” Someone shouted, pointing off into the distance. Joyful shouting followed the exclamation, and when the pair looked out, there it was... Boston Harbor.

As the anchor was dropped, the ship coming to a halt next to the dock, Haytham put a hand on Connor's shoulder and with a mischievous smirk said, “Come now... there's work to be done and celebration to be had for our victory, is there not?”


End file.
